


Tin Pan Alley

by MisterBroflovski



Series: Poor Twisted Me [2]
Category: Metallica
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholism, Desperation, Loneliness, Multi, Rehabilitation, Trust, Trust violation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterBroflovski/pseuds/MisterBroflovski
Summary: (The Sequel to Poor Twisted Me) James Hetfield has been admit into a rehabilitation center after a dance with death, due to his alcohol abuse. Now Metallica has been divided between two cities. While Jason tries to juggle the lives of his bandmates in James' absence, James has begun to feel the effects of loneliness.





	1. James, One

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said this sequel would come much later, but I honestly couldn't help it. I'm too excited about this. Just as a heads up for the rest of this story, I will be giving one chapter through the eyes of James, and then one chapter through the eyes of Jason, and so on. I want you guys to know everything that happens both in the studio and in rehab. I hope you enjoy!

Home.  
Is this my home?

It's where I live. 

But home is where the heart is. And my heart isn't here, that's for goddamn sure. 

Then where's my heart if not here? I've already been here for a month. Where else could it be? I'm still breathing, there's still color in my cheeks. 

So I have a literal heart. But no figurative one. 

No soul, either. 

Poetic as I might be it still makes me feel empty and dead. Am I getting better or is all of this just making my situation worse?

"James?"

"Oh-yeah, sorry."

"Did you hear me?"

"No, I didn't, can you uh.."

"I asked you if you would consider the medication."

"Right..uh.."

Prozac. An antidepressant which is exactly what I fucking need, to feel even more out of my wits. 

"If you think it'll help."

"I think it will help. I think it'll help you a lot. I'll write it up for you."

"Great. Thanks."

The therapist I've gotten paired up with here at the Long Beach Addiction Recovery Center. They were going to put me in a support group, but I threw a minor tantrum. 'Don't you fucking dare throw me in your circle jerk of junkies', all that jazz. 

I don't remember her name, I think it starts with an A. 

Mrs. A excuses me and I'm back in my dorm. If you can even call it that. 

I've made them spoil me here. I have money coming out of my ass, they can squeeze me dry if they feel like it. I don't really care. I'm glad I have my own room and I don't have to share it with a junkie. Either way, I still feel fucking lonely. 

I'd much rather be lonely than to 'make friends' in rehab. 

Just give me my drugs and knock me out. 

Actually, don't. 

Whatever they've been sedating me with, as a part of that detox program, has fucked me up. Bad. 

I already told the therapist everything I needed to. But I didn't tell her that her drugs are making me thrash myself awake every night in cold sweat. They're fucking with my head. I don't want alcohol anymore, not after what these drugs have done to me. 

I'm paranoid and bitter and I have night terrors, almost every. God damn. Night. I am not going to talk about them with her. I don't want to relive them.

It's almost nine at night and I have nothing to do but call Jason or sleep. And I already called him today. I called him the second I woke up, immediately after a particularly awful nightmare. 

That, no, I'm not talking about. 

After a month here I've gotten pretty used to the way my routine has been warped. I don't get my morning coffee, apparently it's harmful to the detox program I'm on to get every ounce of alcohol out of my blood and make sure I don't get sick without it. So the withdrawal I'm facing from lack of booze and lack of caffeine makes me sick to my stomach and I end up vomiting up half of all the meds they force down my throat. I barely sleep, obviously. My eyes are bruised and sunken in. I haven't shaved since I got in here, either, and I'm getting scruffier by the minute. All in all I look homeless, and I think I just might be. 

Is this my home?

This place is cold and sad. Everyone in here is a junkie and I'd like to value myself over them, but we're all equal here. The methheads and dope fiends meet somewhere in the middle and I'm just thrown in alongside. Just because I'm not shooting up every night doesn't mean I'm not an addict. 

That was the first step. Admitting I've got a problem. 

But why would I need to admit that aloud? I'm already here, aren't I? I spent seven hours driving from my real home down to my prison willingly. I left behind Jason and Kirk and Lars to be here. 

...

Jason doesn't call as much as he used to. 

Yeah, I know I'm a bit of a mess right now. I get a little tweaky and scatterbrained after every session with that therapist. 

Today is just not my day. 

I don't know why Jason doesn't call. I've spoken to Lars a few times, but he never really seems to have much to say. Either he's omitting something on purpose, or nothing has really happened in the month that I've been gone. I can't really bring myself to believe that though, because every time I get a call from Kirk, he seems more and more distraught by something. He won't tell me why. 

I'm worried sick about Jason. 

They're not exactly in the most wholesome environment, no. I don't know what Jason has himself distracted by. They can't really work on Reload without me there, can they? 

Kirk told me all about the ocean last time I talked to him, a couple days ago, I think. He told me he's having someone teach him how to surf. 

I pictured him in a wetsuit and snickered to myself. 

But that's great of him. Surfing, skating, he's got his comic books and movies and shit. Kirk is doing okay without music, I can feel it. 

Lars likes to paint. I don't have any clue what the hell he could be painting, but he told me that he sold a couple paintings for a hefty price. He said he's been going to art museums and shit like that. Art museums, galas, fancy dinners, cafes and bars. 

Lars is fine too. 

But Jason? He hasn't told me anything at all. Whenever he calls he asks about me. He doesn't talk me up on the last horror movie he watched or the Italian painter they met last weekend. He just says, "Hey, how ya holdin' up, man?" And expects me to talk his ear off for however much time he has. 

Maybe I'll call him now and ask him what he's been up to. 

No, not now. It's kind of late and he's probably busy. 

At least I hope he's busy. 

Other than music, I'm not really sure what Jason likes. Everything I know about him are things we always did together. Jason likes to play the bass, play basketball and go biking. 

Usually all shit we did together. 

He likes to ride his stupid bike in the mountains and that always scared me shitless, I don't have nearly enough control to ride down a fucking mountain on a two wheeled piece of metal. 

We don't have a basketball hoop at this studio. 

That'll be my first order of business when I get out of this hellhole, buy Jason a basketball hoop. 

I'm not very good at basketball. I have bad depth perception, or something. Jason can only play with his glasses and I find that absolutely hilarious. I have a mind to make fun of him with those thick ass glasses. I have, I've called him every name in the middle school book. I'm sure he doesn't think it's all that funny. 

That reminds me of the time he kicked a soccer ball right in the middle of my goddamn face. 

He kicked it across the field and it knocked me flat on my ass. 

The last thing I heard before hitting the ground was that stupid, high pitched laugh of his. 

I might have kicked his ass in the game but I had my own handed to me on a silver platter after that little incident. Jason laughed his ass off. 

I miss that quite a bit. 

Whenever we'd have a day off we'd stop at a gas station, pick up a case of Gatorade and head to the park. And we'd spend all day there, kicking around a soccer ball. I would get sunburnt, Kirk would darken to a crispy shade of golden brown, Jason would probably scrape up his knees and Lars would wear those stupid tennis shorts. 

Needless to say he got pretty sunburnt too. 

I switch off the lamp and settle into my bunk. 

Shit, I miss them so fucking much. 

I would give anything to smack Lars' sunburn and watch him squirm right now. And tell Kirk he has the worst tanline I've ever seen. It's great, that obvious division between brown and white, right on the line of his shorts. 

Brown stomach, white hips.

I'd give anything to watch Jason smooth a bandaid over his knee and try to scrub grass stains off of his elbows. 

I want to spend a day with them soon. 

First thing tomorrow, when I wake up, I'm going to make myself look at healthy as possible and approach Mrs. A with my proposition. 

May I leave for a day, and reunite with my family?

If they say no, I'm gonna leave anyway. 

\----------

Dear Jesus, okay...

We're moving entirely too fucking fast. 

Jason? 

He's here, he's alright. 

"I think we could all use a reality check."

The words leave my mouth without me having to form them first. They seemed to know they needed to hit the air before I did. 

"James, slow." 

I can hear Jason talking but I don't...seem to do anything about it. 

"What?"

"Slow! James! Stop!"

 

Oh fuck. I remember this dream now. I've had this dream time and time again. But this time something is different. 

I can actually see myself being crushed by my own door. 

God, and it's fucking gnarly...

The door warps around my chest, my arm is thrown into my ribs, and I get thrown into the ceiling. The truck me and Jason are in, it rolls over a couple times and finally lands on Jason's side. He's out cold, so am I. But I'm covered in blood and I've gone completely limp. 

Oh my god. 

Jason, please. Wake up, save me! I'm gonna fucking die! Why didn't I stop when he told me to?

Why didn't I fucking stop?!

Jason? Are you okay? Wake up, move, stir, anything..

Jason!

Wake up!

"Jason!"

I kick the sheets off of myself and lurch over the side of my bed. 

Thank god I've left that trash can right there, because I empty all the contents of my stomach into it. 

This has to be the third time this week that I've woken up sick. 

I had that fucking nightmare about the crash again. I figured they'd stop whenever I got my staples taken out, but they've only worsened, because every time I have it it gets more graphic and I end up vomiting. 

That also might be because they've started me up on some new detox meds. 

Either way, I'm gonna scare myself out of sleeping if I keep having these fucking nightmares. 

When I finish cleaning the trash can out in the sink, brushing my teeth and splashing my face, I'm back in my sweaty bed. 

The clock says two-fourteen. 

What's today, Friday? 

Jason will be awake. 

I have a piece of notebook paper taped to the bedside table next to the phone with numbers scribbled on it, so I follow the number to the studio and pray that Jason picks up. 

"Hello?" 

"Still no Caller ID, huh Newkid?" 

Thank the sweet fucking lord he's awake. It's only been a handful of hours since I've talked to him but good lord that dream fucks me up every time. "No one but you would be calling me at two am."

"Yeah, I know-"

"Why are you calling me at two am?"

"I uh-...felt a little sick to my stomach. I needed to make sure you were..uh..okay." 

"What? Why? What happened?" 

"Nothing, I just had like a...a nightmare or a terror I guess. About the crash."

"Again?" 

Apparently I've told Jason this story and didn't even remember. 

"Yeah. Again. And I woke up, threw myself out of bed and ralphed ."

"Jesus Christ, what are they giving you?" 

"No idea."

"Hey uh...James..?" 

Yes Jason? I'm all ears. 

"Yeah?"

"How's your chest?" 

Jason's voice wavers a little bit when asking me. 

"I'm all healed up, it's fine. Why?"

"Well I figured..uh..I figured I should tell you that-"

Jason's voice is cut short by a yelling of his nickname in the background. 

Tell me what?

"Listen James, I gotta go, I'm sorry. But I'm here okay? I'm here, I'm fine, I get my cast off next week. Ignore the dream. It can't get to either of us. 

Goodnight Het."

I took a bit to respond but Jason didn't hang up until he knew I was still there. 

"...night Newkid."

 

\----------

 

I know I said I was gonna go spend a day with the boys but I seriously doubt I'm fit to do that right now. I had to call Mrs. A in earlier because of that stupid nightmare and how what Jason said fucked me up pretty bad. 

So here I am in a therapists office at nine am. I haven't showered, I haven't changed. I look like a disaster so maybe she'll really beef up my treatment. 

So I can get out of here quicker. 

"So what's bothering you so early?"

"It woulda been nice to have you at about three this morning."

"Lord, what happened?" 

"I had a nightmare about the uh...the crash. Again."

"So this is a reoccurring dream?"

"Yeah. It happens a lot and it gets worse every time it happens."

Her penciled in eyebrows draw down and she clicks her pen a few times. 

"What do you think this is trying to tell you?" 

The dream? Shit if I know. I already get that I'm a dumbass piece of shit and that's why I'm here. 

"I don't know what it could be telling me that I don't already know."

"Well, that's the funny thing about dreams," she starts, and she uncrosses her legs. "You already know everything they're trying to tell you. But usually, you haven't uncovered it."

"Fine, then I've already uncovered everything."

"Have you though? I'd advise you to look deeper than what it's already told you. There's something there, and I have a very strong feeling that the dreams will stop once you find out what it's trying to tell you." 

I fidget with the string of my flannel pants while I search for a reply. Luckily I don't need to. 

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about this morning?" 

For a second I want to ask her about the day out. But I shoot it down before it can hit the air. 

"No ma'am. Thank you."

\---

I would like to humbly thank the addiction recovery center for catering rather than hiring cooks. Then I can start my day with something other than cafeteria food. 

Well, this morning I'm not eating anything. I'm just gonna get my coffee and go up to the gym. 

Honestly, this place isn't half as bad as I make it out to be. There's a gym, a couple of pools, a giant courtyard and a bunch of different setups for sports and whatever. There's a lake, too, but there's always too many people out fishing for me to get to it alone. 

It's a sanctuary here. But my biggest concern is the weird pills and programs they have me on to clean me up. 

Hardly anyone gets to the gym at nine thirty am. There's mirrors all over that place, and I do notice a small difference in my build, but what distracts me is the patchy fucking beard I'm starting to grow. And I have no clue where my razors are to shave. 

Those are probably the first things they confiscate when you walk in here. I know for a fact that I brought everything I could need, but I'm missing quite a few things. 

Razors are sharp. Sharp is bad. 

Especially for a junkie who doesn't wanna be here. 

There's another reason I shouldn't see the boys yet. I need a haircut and a shave, or else I'm gonna start to look like an escaped convict or a conspiracy theorist. 

An hour and a half in the gym seems to have made me smell bad enough to take a shower. Maybe if I'm at least clean and look well put together they'll let me out to get myself cleaned up. I don't feel great, no. I'm starving. But since I was sick last night I'll be fucked if I risk it again today. 

\----------

I've been busy all day. Since I got out of the shower this morning I was allowed to be released into the city, but I had a curfew of 9 pm. So I blew into my breathalyzer and spread the map of Long Beach out on the passenger's seat. 

It felt pretty good to do my own share of self-care. Most days I live like a confused child, but today I was out on my own. Jason left his CDs in there when he lent me the truck, so I stayed in it most of the day. After my haircut and whatnot I found myself staring in the rear view mirror while driving around Long Beach to Thin Lizzy's "Jailbreak". 

I like whatever they did to my beard. They shaved my cheeks down at an angle and completely shaved my chin. So I've almost got the Lemmy thing going on again, but without the chinstrap. 

After that I just went out to eat and tried to find myself some other forms of entertainment while I'm under. 

CDs, tapes, notebooks and sketchpads. 

I refuse to get out of the truck until the sun goes down. 

I'm in the parking lot outside of the rehab center, listening to Jason's Page and Plant CD, No Quarter Unledded. 

I'm lost in thought, too. With a blinding sunset and a thick smell of cigarette ash and sea spray, Long Beach is tearing me up. 

I'm just going through the motions now until I can get the hell back to San Rafael. I have never been this alone before. And despite the calls I still feel like I don't know my band as well as I used to. I miss my guitars and I miss the recording booth. 

I miss the stage. 

I'm not the biggest fan of fame but I've never felt this unimportant before. 

I don't feel like James Hetfield. I just feel like James. Some guy that this facility is being payed to take care of. I'm not even Het anymore. Maybe, by some fucking miracle, I can convince the lot of them to come down here and we can head to the beach. We'd get some sun, some recognition, Kirk could teach me how to surf he wanted. 

The clock on the dashboard hits 8:30, and I have to check back in before they hunt me down. 

This is my life now. Life with a curfew. 

I'm 17 again. But I'm not drunk off my ass stumbling into my dad's house after dark, praying not to get in trouble. 

I'm 34 and I'm shuffling into a rehab center.


	2. Jason, Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice that these chapters are getting a little short compared to my Poor Twisted Me chapters, it is mostly because I want to write more chapters as a whole. There's a lot going on that I need to space between two points of view, so I'm trying to give it some diversity, if that makes sense. Thanks again for your support, enjoy!

"Shit, I forgot the envelope."

"I'll get 'em." 

When I climb out of the truck my heart starts to race a little. 

Am I really gonna do this? Am I really that fixed on what James said about the fucking painkillers and vodka to do this? 

I guess I am because my hand is inside the envelope, sliding James' painkiller prescription out and folding it up to fit in my pocket. 

Nice one, Jase. You just stole a prescription from someone who needs it. 

But I stuff the thought down and get back out to James so I can take him down to the consultation. 

Perfect, Jason. You're doing this again. You're back on the fucking pills. How ridiculously stupid, you're headed to drop your friend off at an addiction facility consultation and you're willingly letting yourself do essentially the exact same thing. 

Great, go ahead. It's not like he cares about you or anything. It's not like he's sending himself to be fixed by people he doesn't trust just because he kind of sort of hurt you. He's destroying his own life in hopes to make yours better, but no. 

Go ahead. 

Fuck yourself up worse just to see how bad it gets before James really cracks. 

\----------

{One Month After James' Departure}

If James calls me at nine, does that mean I'm not supposed to call him more than that? If he calls me he has something to talk about, and if I call him, I have something to talk about. 

But I can't really...

I don't have anything to talk about that wouldn't put me on the spot. I spent today sitting in the shower, letting the water pelt my stomach, while I tried to ignore Lars and Kirk screaming at one another. 

They don't yell like a couple would. They yell like drunk men fighting, because honestly, that's what they are. Kirk doesn't even cry anymore. He just fucking yells. I don't say anything to James though. 

Other than Lars' and Kirk's constant bickering, and the worsening thereof, I constantly feel sick to my fucking stomach. All by my own hand, too. What does any sane, sensible person do when they're reminded of something that nearly killed them ten years ago? 

IGNORE IT. 

Unless you're me, of course. Because if you're me, you steal your friend's painkiller prescription and ask for the beefed up dosage because "Ow, my broken wrist that I got in a hit and run car accident, it's absolutely killing me, you see I play the bass guitar for a living, I need to heal up quick, for my band's big tour!"

A tour that probably isn't even coming. And I haven't touched my basses in a month, had no reason to. The only time my cast bothers me is when I get an itch. 

Yes, I'm beating around the bush. 

I put myself back on painkillers. 

Why? 

I don't know. Who cares?

James is gone. He's seven hours away from me and a daily call isn't nearly enough, but I'm not about to blow up his phone with a call any time I get mildly lonely, I'm not some sort of clingy girlfriend. But shit, it'd be nice if I was even noticed around here. Half the time Kirk and Lars go out without telling me anything. They've done interviews recently without even letting me know about the call. So what do I really have to do besides choke on a buncha pills and wash it down with vodka?

The way James told me to. 

Wrong. He told you to do the exact fucking opposite you fucking hypocrite. How sick is this making you? How many times a week do you vomit? How many times a day do you shake and quiver because there's a toxic cocktail inside of you waiting to be thrown up? 

Do you even eat? Or sleep? Or anything? 

I swirl the bottle around in my hand and look back up at the TV. I've got hardly a few ounces left of my plain Smirnoff, and only another dose of painkillers. 

"Dose". For me, anyway, someone who's experienced with the way pills react with different dosages and variables. I'm supposed to take up to three of these little pills a day, but I take about six or seven and wash it down with the clear alcohol of my choosing. 

I'll save this for tomorrow. 

Hell, what time is it, two? Two am. There's nothing on TV, and I'm pretty sure Kirk and Lars are asleep. If they're even here. I press the opening of the bottle against my lips and start to toss my head back before I'm so rudely interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Jesus, it's two am, who the fuck would be calling me at-

Fuck me. It's James. 

I scramble into the kitchen, I almost slip on my socks, and answer. 

"Hello?" I say, and I sound a lot less rushed than I feel. 

"Still no caller ID, huh Newkid?" 

"No one but you would be calling me at two am."

"Yeah, I know-"

"Why are you calling me at two am?"

"I uh-...felt a little sick to my stomach. I needed to make sure you were..uh..okay." 

"What? Why? What happened?" 

"Nothing, I just had like a...a nightmare or a terror I guess. About the crash."

"Again?" 

James calls me telling me about his nightmare pretty often, but he never seems to remember that he's told me. I think it keeps getting worse because he keeps calling earlier and earlier into the night. 

"Yeah. Again. And I woke up, threw myself out of bed and ralphed ."

"Jesus Christ, what are they giving you?" 

"No idea."

Thinking about it, it makes my hand a little shaky on the phone. Maybe that's just the pills. Or maybe it's because I mentioned pills. 

Maybe he's fucked up and needs what I've been abusing.

Oh Jesus Christ, what if I'm fucking depriving him..?

"Hey uh...James..?" 

"Yeah?"

"How's your chest?" 

I can't control an inconsistent tone when I ask him, because I'm trying to come up with both an excuse and a solution if James says his chest has been bothering him. 

"I'm all healed up, it's fine. Why?"

"Well I figured..uh..I figured I should tell you that-"

Outside of the call, I hear Lars call 'Newkid' from the other room. Fuck me...I don't know if I dodged a bullet or not. I think that was the alcohol making me its marionette, trying to force a confession out of me. 

James is fine, he doesn't need the pills, and I'd much rather not worry him. And I say that with a passive aggressive eye roll in the direction of my near dry Smirnoff. 

"Listen James, I gotta go, I'm sorry. But I'm here okay? I'm here, I'm fine, I get my cast off next week. Ignore the dream. It can't get to either of us. 

Goodnight Het."

Lars is yelling at me again but I'm not hanging up until I hear James' voice again. 

"...night Newkid."

Click. 

Okay. James is alright. 

When I get to the source of Lars' voice, he's sitting bare against his headboard with the phone in his hand. 

"I just wanted you off the fuckin' line, who are you even talking to?" 

"James. Who the fuck are you talking to at two am?" 

"None of your business Newkid," Lars spits, but he changes the subject quick. "What'd James want?" 

"He was freaking out because of his meds, he just needed someone to talk to." 

"He is never going to get better if he comes to you with every fuckin' knee scrape, you know? Sometimes you're gonna have to tune him out." 

I take it as an excuse to leave when Lars says that. Kirk is squeezing past me from behind in the doorframe to get to the bathroom. He's got a toothbrush in his mouth, and he's naked save for a pair of skimpy red briefs. With a mouthful of frothy toothpaste he tells me goodnight, so I return the favor and dismiss them. 

I should probably hide my pills somewhere before Kirk finds them and has puppies. 

Actually, it would be kinda nice to get some attention, even if it's Kirk questioning me. At least they'd be talking to me. 

Goodnight Smirnoff. You've been a good friend for some time. 

And so I take off my jeans and pass out on the couch, yet again. 

\----------

I wake up with the world's worst hangover. 

And it's already noon. Kirk and Lars aren't here. Nor did they leave any notes, or anything. 

God, when James left, he told me I was going to have to take care of them. Not bang pots together over my head to get them to acknowledge my existence. 

I can't move for quite some time but when I finally stumble to my feet, my back pinches and I wince in pain. 

Sleeping on that couch is the worst thing they could make me do. 

I check the phone and I don't see any missed calls from James. Or anyone, for that matter. I almost want to check Lars' phone to see who he made me drop James for but I doubt I would recognize the number. My brain is fried. 

I shut all the blinds in the studio to create a little isolation chamber for myself. As little light as possible comes through and I can open my eyes fully. The house is silent, which is nice, but it just makes every little noise sound that much louder. 

And my stomach, good Christ. I'm holding my stomach just to ease it of a little pain. I figure I should eat, that way if I do puke I'll puke something other than stomach acid. 

We have a box of leftover pizza that someone stuffed into the fridge. The whole cardboard box. Stuffed sideways into the fridge. 

That and a case of beer. There's bottles of Smirnoff in the freezer waiting to meet my good friend hydrocodone. 

I guess I can stomach some cold pizza. If not, oh well. I've got some swift feet on me, I can get to the bathroom before I puke. 

While I try to wiggle the wedged box out of the fridge, the door opens, and Kirk and Lars come through one at a time. They're holding a few plastic bags in each hand. 

Grocery bags. 

Holy fuck, food. God only knows how old this pizza is. 

"Thank god," I manage to whisper. But I can feel that this isn't for me. 

"Morning Newkid," Lars says, and I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of being addressed. 

"Morning-"

"We got you shit to nurse that hangover." Kirk says, while digging through to the bottom of a bag. 

"How did you know I'd be hungover?"

"You drank an entire bottle of vodka by yourself yesterday Jase."

Kirk tosses me a little box of naproxen and I barely catch it. 

Did I really drink that much?

"Did I?"

Lars rolls his eyes. "You did. And there's four more in the freezer. If you're gonna hog all of those at least don't sit on the couch and drink all sad like that."

Usually I drink in the bathroom when I'm sad. Every other time I'm pretty much just going through empty motions. 

"Then invite someone over. We'll have a party so I don't have to drink alone on the couch,"

I absolutely hate the idea of having a party right now but I'm totally okay with drinking alone in the bathroom during one. 

Kirk seemed to get a little giddy when I said 'party'. I feel an unbelievable amount of tension and nothing really brings guys closer than getting fucked up together. 

"Invite Anthrax, fuck it, invite Bob and tell him to bring whoever the fuck he wants. We'll give them a party and then we can deal with the mess later." 

Kirk pulls himself onto the counter and kicks his legs. His eyes are huge, so is his smile, but Lars doesn't seem to be taking any shit. 

"I don't wanna clean up after a fuckin' party, Newkid."

Is all he says while he kicks off his shoes and escapes into the back room. 

Kirk slides off the counter and blindly follows him, but his spirits are crushed. 

So much for trying to cheer Kirk up a little. At least I got about five minutes of attention. 

At least I know Kirk still has me on his mind, somewhere. If he got me something for my hangover, if he knew I would even have one. 

I guess I should also be a little more careful. If he saw me drinking he'll see my pills, and if he sees my pills he'll get a little frantic. 

I wish Lars would back the fuck off for a little bit because it's obvious that Kirk feels deprived as hell. I was serious when I suggested that we should all be getting a little help, because we're all a different variety of fucked up. Me especially. But right now I want to be a mess. That sounds insanely cynical and detrimental but I'm not really trying to go anywhere. I guess I'm just waiting for James to get back but honestly I'm not trying very hard to stay alive until then. 

I pick up the phone to call James for a little bit of a rant but he doesn't pick up. 

I'd be worried, but I'm too heartbroken to be worried. 

He's too busy for me just like everyone else that matters in my life. 

Where are my pills?

 

\----------

"Hey uh, I'm just here for a refill of hydrocodone."

"Oh man, your arm?" 

"Yes ma'am. Accident."

My cast comes off next week and I feel absolutely no pain. But if you'll take that, I'll give it to you. 

"Alright, give me one second and I'll have it right out." 

Those last five pills were extremely disappointing. I washed 'em down with a beer at lunch with the guys but they hardly spoke to me. I didn't think I was gonna end up asking for more pills to feed this fabricate addiction but here I am. 

I'm not even addicted yet. I'm trying to get myself addicted. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

"Thank you Ms."

"Before I let you leave I have to let you know about the many side effects of taking hydrocodone-"

"You don't have to. I got this talk from the doctor."

I didn't actually. But I'd rather not know the side effects. 

"Alright sir, if you need anything else you can call our pharmacy, it's open 24 hours by phone."

God yes. 

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind, thank you." I wave to her on the way out and grip the bag of hydrocodone. Tonight is gonna be fun, I can feel it. 

\----------

"Do you think you'd want to uh-.." 

James stops talking mid sentence and I get a little concerned. 

"You'd wanna come down here? Maybe this weekend or something-if you're not busy-"

"Busy? Are you crazy? You think I'm too busy for you?" 

"I was kind of hoping you were."

Oh yeah, James wants the best for me. Poor him. 

"I'm not, I'm bored down here alone."

"Alone?"

"Fuck. Uh, yeah. Lars and Kirk are pretty seclusive...I'm not really a part of their equation."

I don't wanna sit here on the phone with James and bitch about being lonely until midnight. He called me. Which means he deserves to talk more. 

"Then get your ass down here."

"Just me?"

"Yeah. Just you. I uh.."

Miss me?

"I'd rather it just be you."

He misses me. Definitely. That's what that means. 

I look down at the rolled up paper bag with my prescription scribbled across it, and run my thumb over the logo. How long is it gonna take me to finish these? It took me a month last time. And I don't want to wait to go down for another month, nor do I want to take them with me when I do. 

Looks like I'm gonna amp up the dosage so I can see James quicker. 

"How about in a week or two? I can see if I can make it out there."

"It's a long ass drive."

"I know that. I can make it down and stay in a hotel for a couple days." 

I'd want to stay for longer than that but I really can't be away from the pills that long if I want to get as hooked as I used to be. 

"Sounds good Newkid. I'll hold that over your head until you get your stubborn ass in Long Beach."

Please do, or I'll never leave. 

"How's it going for you on the other end? What were you busy doing earlier? It better be good for ignoring my call." 

"Ah shit, you called me? I'm sorry Newkid. I was doing some self care kind shit."

"What do you mean?"

I take the phone and get comfortable on the couch. I hope I can get James to talk me up for a while. 

"I mean I got to leave today. Had a little excursion I guess. I got a haircut and shit-I had coffee for the first time in weeks."

"Damn Het, feeling better?" 

"I am. Not as shitty as this morning I hope?" 

"Not nearly. I'm hoping I don't have a nightmare about that stupid shit again but if I do-"

"Then you're calling me."

"Well, aren't you bossy?" 

I know that was him teasing me but I do feel a little bossy. I really hate the idea of controlling James the way Lars controls Kirk. 

"Well, shut up."

"If you're so bossy why don't you make me?"

Shit James, I am not drunk enough for this right now. 

"Make you? Make you shut up?" I say, with a little bit of a sly undertone. I hope he hears that. 

"Yeah, or else I'm gonna bug the shit out of you."

I can hear his stupid smug-ass smile through the grainy phone audio. 

"How exactly would I make you shut up?"

"I'm sure you can think of a way," he starts, chuckling, "you've done it before."

Oh gosh. He's mentioning what I did the night before he left. Yikes, I really really thought he would've forgot about that, I'm a little embarrassed about it. 

It could have gone better. 

He could at least thank me for sucking him off. That was a weird feeling that I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to suppress. 

"Shut you up? Please. You could've damn well woken up the neighbors."

"You shut your damn mouth Jason." He says, laughing. "I'll beat the fuck out of you." 

"Go ahead pussy, you won't lay a finger on me." 

"Pussy?!" He mocks my voice and his laugh becomes more genuine. "You're beggin' for it now."

"You wish Het."

It was meant to be suggestive, of course, but indirectly a stab right in his egotistical chest. If there's one thing James hates it's being belittled, and if there's one thing I love, it's belittling James. 

"You doubt my ability to make you beg?" 

"What would I beg for? You? Please. I don't want anything you have." That's a fucking blatant lie and James knows it. But I'm starting to really enjoy this toying with James' pride. 

"Oh yeah? Why don't you get your fucking ass down to Long Beach and I'll prove you wrong." 

Fuck me. I don't think I can wait two weeks...

Looks like I'm taking some pills with me on my way down to Long Beach. 

"...see you Monday, Het."

"Thaaaaaat's my Newkid."

And I hang up before this gets too risky. 

Ah hell, what am I so afraid of? My whole life is pretty much balancing on the edge right now. But I've got the rest of tonight, and tomorrow, Sunday, before I head on over to Long Beach. Should I explain to Kirk and Lars? Or should I just leave and wonder if they even notice I'm gone?

Nope. I'm just gonna leave. If they don't notice oh fucking well. I'll be getting some much needed attention soon like I wanted and it'll be just fucking peachy for a while.


	3. James, 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this was a real task to write. I've been writing chapters out of order, and I'm a little scrambled at the moment, but I promise I'm leading up to something. Thank you for the support as always ❤️

I'm still trying to figure out why Jason didn't wrap up his thought last I talked to him. Friday night he said there was something he needed to tell me, but he hung up. And when we talked Saturday night he didn't tell me what it is. 

Maybe he forgot, but something leads me to believe he omit it on purpose. If that's the case it only makes me more curious as to what the fuck he was talking about and whether or not I should be worried. 

In any case, I convinced him to come down here tomorrow. The thought of seeing him after a month of hardly speaking to anyone but my therapist makes my heart beat just a little bit faster. And I'm especially excited that it's Jason. Don't get me wrong, I miss my band, but if I invite one of Lars and Kirk the other will go, and that presents a lot of problems I'd rather not deal with. No one really gives me the whole picture when they call me. They talk about stuff that doesn't really matter. Not that I don't want to listen to what they have to tell me, because I do. I'm just saying they never tell me about the bad things that are going on. 

I think that Kirk leaves things like that out because he's afraid of what happened last time he called me upset. 

And that technically wasn't the last time. He's done it since, but he tries to conceal it. 

I know Kirk blames himself for what happened to me and Jason, and I'm not quite as sorry as I was for myself, so I have a better idea of whose fault it really is. It's not Kirk's fault. He called me in the middle of the night, sure. But I would have made it just fine to the studio if I wasn't drunk. I'd probably beat the fuck out of me if I was Kirk. I'm a total fucking dumbass for letting this happen. I could be mad at Jason for proposing we'd get drunk together but he really didn't force me to drink. If he wanted to drink, that's fine. 

I wonder if they're drinking. 

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? Of course they are! They're Metallica. Alcoholica. Booze has been flowing through our music for years and years now. Over a decade. Almost 20 goddamn years of getting shitfaced and writing music. 

I mean, we did take a gigantic turn. We gripped the steering wheel of our career and jerked it to the side, as appropriate as that analogy is. I remember people burning their Metallica shit after Load came out because it wasn't what they expected. 

Thrash is dead, Lars said, metal is dead, we're doing what's best for us. 

God. I've really become a statistic, haven't I? 

A millionaire rockstar a couple good years into his career crying out for help while he's begun to drown in the very thing that made him anything. 

Fortune, fame, mirror vain, gone insane. 

I almost laugh at remembering my lyrics, but I see my younger self in the mirror before I can fully process the thought. 

...but the memory remains. 

I was just a stupid kid with a face full of zits and a closet full of skinny jeans. A stupid kid who liked to drink and play guitar and skate. My teenage rebellion isn't fucking here anymore. 

Where have I gone? 

I splash some water in my face to wash away the image of early twenties me so I can get back to working out. 

 

\-----

If Jason is gonna show up tomorrow, I'm gonna have to spend my session talking about leaving, getting a couple hours away. 

I don't know what the fuck me and Jason are gonna do while he's here. Probably go grab food, go drive around to keep up the talk and then I guess I'll drop him off at the hotel. His dumb ass is gonna want to stay in a shitty motel, because it's humble old Jason, but I'll buy him a couple nights in some fancy-ass seaside suite. With a view. 

And if he doesn't let me I'll force him to take it. 

I'm making the guy drive down here by playing my fucking mind games, the least I could do is use them to give him what he deserves. 

Now, another concern I have, while I dust baby powder over my hands and grip the pull bar, is about Lars and Kirk. 

Kirk and Lars?

Lars and Kirk. 

They're gonna be alone for two days. Actually alone. And since I have zero fucking clue how they're holding up right now, I'm scared half to death of them murdering one another. I get sick of Lars within fifteen minutes. Kirk hasn't left his side since we started recording Load. It weirds me out a little, but like I said, I don't get to know what's going on. I hope Kirk calls tonight, or whenever before Jason gets here. If he does I'm gonna squeeze some info out of him. 

The caged clock on the wall says it's already eleven, which means I've been in here for almost three hours. Fucking Christ. 

I'll go shower and talk up Mrs. A about leaving, for real this time. 

 

\-----

"I think you're doing exactly what you should be."

"Spoiling him?"

"Yes, if that's what you wanna call it."

I didn't realize that was encouraged by therapists. 

"Why's that?"

"Well, I think you're earning back his trust.

Oh, God no. 

"I don't think so."

"You don't think he's starting to trust you again? Why?"

When I shake my head she expects me to continue. I'm not really sure why. 

"I don't know. There's a lot of shit I've done to him, I mean I kind of have intent-"

I stop myself before I start spilling too much. 

Her eyebrows dart down. 

"Intentions? Of what?" 

Fuck me. 

"Uh-I'd rather not uh..I don't want to talk about it."

"Why is Jason coming down here, James?" Her voice is small, if that makes sense. It's somber and quiet and serious. 

I open my mouth to answer but the most heterosexual parts of me stuff my words back down. She just keeps staring at me, and I know, even though I'm looking at her knee, that she's staring right at the curve of my lips. 

"I just needed to patch up some things with him."

"Can you tell me what?" 

"I don't think I should."

"James, I promise you that nothing you say ever leaves this room unless it puts someone or yourself in danger."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"I wouldn't want you to be. I think you're afraid of yourself."

Me. Being afraid of myself. I guess I'm afraid of thinking I'm a faggot. 

I clench my jaw. 

"James I think...I might know exactly what's going on. But let me ask you a couple questions first."

She's really starting to piss me off. 

"So you mentioned something a couple weeks ago about Lars and Kirk that caught my attention. You said you caught them after a night of drinking, right? You walked in on them doing something you would've rather not seen?"

"Yeah."

"Have you ever-.."

She shuts up and the silence is saccharine. 

"...been in a similar situation?"

"Are you trying to suggest I'm a fucking faggot?" 

"James-"

"I don't need you to tell me anything else doc. I'm leaving tomorrow. Thanks for your time." 

I stand up to leave and the couch fails to suck me back in. 

"James, think about the dream-" she barks at me while I leave, "it was trying to tell you something. Let it tell you."

For fuck's sake. I'm not a faggot. 

Literally anything you've done in the past two months suggests otherwise. 

Shut the fuck up. 

\----------

It's going to be a long fucking day trying to organize things with Jason. I kind of expect he's not going to say anything to Lars or Kirk, but I'd feel like an asshole if they didn't know. 

"Hey Newkid."

"Good afternoon, Het. Any idea when I should leave tomorrow?"

"Whenever you want is fine. You just have to get here before midnight."

"Yeah, I can do that. I think I'm gonna stay in a motel or something-"

I shift in my seat and hold my little map of Long Beach. 

"Yeah, no. That's why I'm calling."

"What?"

"I'm buying you a nice ass suite whether you like it or not."

Jason takes a minute to respond. He seems like he's trying to figure out whether or not to take my offer. But it doesn't matter, because he's going to. 

"Don't do that, man."

"You do realize I can afford it, right?" 

"You should realize you needa save up your cash for whenever you get your ass outta there."

Jason has a point. But I'll be fucked if I don't buy him a suite. 

"Shut up Newkid 'n let me spoil you."

Jason giggles this flustered little giggle into the mic. His nervous, high pitched, cracking giggle. My face splits into a grin. 

"Alright, alright, fuck. Let me know where to go."

I tell him about the hotel I wanna send him to. And I ask him to stay Monday night and leave Wednesday morning. Then we'd have all of Tuesday to do whatever it is we're going to do. 

"So I'll bring a couple thousand for Tuesday-"

"Well I mean, I don't think we need that much."

"Fuck off James. You've been cooped up in a loony bin and we're gonna do something to help you out."

"Well, I'd hardly call it a loony bin."

Jason's stupid laugh. 

"If it's not a loony bin what have you been doing?" 

He's doing that thing again. Trying to get me to talk so he doesn't have to. But I'll let it slide for now, because tomorrow I'll do whatever it takes to make him talk about what the fuck is going on up at the studio. 

For a while I tell him all about how I've been working out everyday, how they've let me have my coffee in the morning again, and of course he tells me that I'm disgusting for not putting milk in my coffee. Again, I tell him that hot milk is fucking gross. 

He laughs at me, he calls me a dickhead. 

What a sweetheart. 

"So how long do they let you stay out for?" 

"I can pretty much stay out from whenever until like, 9. Then I have to be back. It's a little like prison, but I get catered food. So not at all like prison."

"They give you any word on when you'll be out yet?" 

I take a moment to myself before speaking. 

"Uh, no, actually. That's another thing. There's something I'm supposed to be uh...looking for, in counseling, and I can't really leave until I figure out what it is."

"...you mean like a-..like a sign?" 

"Yeah. Exactly. I think having you here'll help me."

"Shit, glad I can be of some use."

After Jason stops talking I realize we've been chatting for nearly two hours, and it's already gotten a little late. Somehow I've already torn through a whole day. 

If I hadn't been fucked up before, my meds mess with my head, and my perception of time. I hope that doesn't affect me and Jason's meet up. 

"Aight Het, I gotta go pack up and shit. Probably withdraw something from the bank. Call me later tonight if you need to, okay?"

His little notice of guidance warms my nonexistent heart. 

"'Kay Jase. Thanks man, talk to you in a bit."

Beep beep beep. 

 

The little envelope I got has a paper telling me exactly what meds I'm taking and exactly what they're supposed to do. None of them say warped perception of time in the side effects. One of them did say 'confusion', so maybe that's what's going on. 

I'm just confused. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. This is a loony bin.

And I'm just one of the many nuts inside. 

I guess there's nothing I can do but sit around and watch TV for the rest of the day, or night. Whatever time it is. 

I sink into my little couch, shove my hand in my pants and click on the TV. I hear some mechanical buzzing, and then a name I wish I hadn't. 

"...drummer of Metallica Lars Ulrich had commented on the scenario. 'Yeah, you know, James just needed some help and uh, we couldn't really get it for him without traveling the extra mile, you know. Um, we don't know yet, when he'll be out, but uh...he's doing alright, we talk to him every day. Don't worry about James, guys! He's doin' just fine.' Still no word from the rest of the band or James himself, however, we have gotten back from his rehab center backing up Ulrich's claims. For more information on this story, head to..."

Well, Lars wore a stupid shirt for that interview. That's all I really have to say about that. 

It took them fucking long enough to realize we fell off the face of the earth. And I have watched as much TV as I can while in here, waiting to hear something about me. 

That was the first time, believe it or not. They didn't make me look like a nut, I suppose. It could have been much worse. I expected "James Hetfield's childish, party lifestyle finally caught up to him after he was involved in a terrible accident that put Jason Newsted in the fucking hospital". Maybe that was the part I didn't catch of that MTV report. 

I hope it was. 

It gets late quick, but I'm not about to complain. I finally get to see Jason tomorrow, but first I'm gonna have to call up the hotel and fill out my absence forms. It'll be fine though, I can get some work in before I see Jason, grab a shower, clean up.

It'll be nice if I have any fucking say. 

I check my calendar before I head to sleep, and according to it, today marks the 45th day I've abstained from alcohol. 

And I do my best to be proud of myself but no matter what I do that number isn't good enough. 

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.


	4. Jason, 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK THIS CHAPTER. FUCK IT.*****

I made a quick little trip to the wellness center to see if I could get my cast off early. Thankfully, they said I could it shelled and bandaged before tomorrow. Watching them saw off the cast was pretty satisfying, but seeing the glossy, bruised scar underneath was pretty fucking gnarly. They wrapped me up with ace and plastic wrap, like a tattoo, and told me to stay on my meds if I needed them. 

What fucking morons. 

\----------

 

I can't tell if this makes me an awful person or not. 

If it weren't for the mirror next to the bed I wouldn't be able to see much. 

I can't as it is, between the frame and the door. But what I can see is enough for me to understand exactly what's going on and exactly what has been going on for months. 

"Fuck-Kirk.."

Lars' hand shivers up to rest on the back of Kirk's fuzzy head and holds him closer to his chest. I can't see much of what he's doing, but his mouth is directly matched up with Lars' nipple. His nipple ring. 

I hear the faint sound of metal clashing with teeth and then Lars' back bows. 

Then I can't see. Kirk crawls further toward Lars, he raises his ass further in the air, and Lars sinks further into the mattress. 

I watch Lars' expression as Kirk keeps tugging at his piercing. Kirk pulls back and Lars' face twists; letting out a painful groan. 

"Fuck, you okay..?" Kirk's weak voice wonders. All Lars does is whine and nod.

Suddenly Kirk climbs onto Lars' lap and reaches over to the bedside table. He taps the lamp, and the brightness goes down. 

Fuck you too, kid. I can hardly see you grinding down against Lars now. 

Fuck me. Is that what he's doing?

They're kissing now. One of Lars' hands is on Kirk's thigh and the other holds the back of his neck. Every couple of seconds I can hear Kirk whine and pant against Lars' mouth as his hips keep slowly grinding down. He's keeping up with an even pace though. He's not getting faster, he's not moving any more feverish than the moment before. He's taking his time. 

Lars seems to be getting impatient. 

One of his hands leaves Kirk's neck and drifts down towards the bedside table. With his eyes still closed, he noisily searches the drawer for the knob and when he finds it, he pulls it open. 

When Kirk hears the sound of the drawer sliding open he takes both sides of Lars' face in his hands and his pace finally quickens. I can barely hear Lars' satisfied giggle over the sound of him searching the drawer. 

I hear some plastic, some metal, and something flat and papery. 

What in the fuck is he looking for?

I crane my neck a little more to see through the crack in the door, but I don't move from my spot. I've been quiet and I intend to stay that way. 

Kirk's toes curl and uncurl with growing anticipation. I'm getting antsy too, waiting to see what the hell Lars is looking for. 

Lars takes Kirk's wrist away from his face and twists his arm behind his back, with a force I didn't expect from him. Kirk gasps and quickly pulls away from the kiss, turning his head into his armpit to hide. 

Lars pulls a pair of handcuffs out with his other hand and cuffs Kirk's wrists together behind his back. 

I cross my legs. 

Kirk's back is rising and falling a little faster. "...did..did you get the key..?" He asks, sounding worried for his own escape. Lars smiles up at him and pats his hip. 

"I lost it last weekend."

"Lars!" Kirk yelps, and he starts to tug at the handcuffs that restrain him. "For fucks sake man-how am I gonna get out?" 

"That's the point," Lars says, a little too blasé for my comfort, "let me get those boxers off'a ya and maybe you can convince me to unlock you."

"Yes sir."

That remark got me hard, almost instantly. 

Lars said something like "good boy" I think but all I could focus on was trying to unzip my jeans without making any noise. 

Which was a success. 

I'd think twice about this if I hadn't agreed to meet James tomorrow in Long Beach for what undoubtedly is going to turn sexual. 

Yikes. 

Kirk is naked now. It's definitely not the first time I've seen him naked but it's the first time I've seen him naked and handcuffed. He turns his head for a second while he's getting his boxers ripped from his waist, but I suppose it's too dark in his room and in the hallway I'm sitting in to catch any glimpse of me. 

Soon, Lars is sitting straight against the headboard with Kirk hovering over his bare lap. In order not to spit and make noise, I just lather my fingers in gathered saliva and take a grip on my shameful dick. 

I'm pretty mad about this to be honest. But fuck it. 

I can't see anything that's going on other than that, I think Lars is finding a rubber but I'm not quite sure. 

Lars places a hand on the lowest point of Kirk's back, and he seems as though he's about to ride him, but Lars stops him. 

"Wait, I have another little somethin' for ya.."

He goes digging in the drawer again but this time comes up with a ball, with two strips of what I think is leather hanging from either side. 

"Oh fuck man-" Kirk begins, but Lars' hand lands on his chin and he makes a nearly silent command. 

"Open."

I squeeze my dick involuntarily when Kirk whines. 

I see the back of his jaw move but I can't see his actual lips parting, unfortunately. 

"Wider."

Kirk whines, I squeeze, and Lars giggles. 

"Is that all you got? Open up wide for me, come on."

Kirk's legs are shaking, trying to hold himself up. But he does as he was told and the plastic red ball is shoved into his mouth. 

Kirk gasped in protest for a moment, before Lars fastened the leather strips around Kirk's head. 

"You're cute when you scream, but I wanna see how quiet you can be."

How clever. They do this in a sound proof studio with Lars' "perfect acoustics" so no one can hear Kirk but him. 

But they've made the fatal mistake of leaving the door cracked open. 

Kirk gives out a muffled groan around his ball gag. God, I wish he'd turn around..I wanna see those lips of his wrapped around a gag, and I wanna see those huge eyes fog up. 

The thought makes my cock twitch in my hand, and I have to do everything in my power to stuff down a gasp. 

When Kirk finally starts to lower himself down onto Lars is when sweat breaks out across my face. 

He tries to push a moan past his gag, but it ricochets back into his chest and his moan trails off into a weak gasp. He's breathing heavy through his nose. 

Lars curls an arm under Kirk's and grabs his shoulder, helping him to lower himself fully. 

When Kirk is settled in Lars' lap he tosses his head back, much to my fortune..

His eyebrows are drawn up and his eyes are shut loosely. There's already tears welling in the very corners of his eyes, that I wouldn't have been able to see if not for the dim lamp. 

I bite the flesh of my lip. 

Kirk is groaning within each shaky exhale, and he hasn't even begun to move. God, if he's always this vocal and I've never heard him, this album is going to sound crisp as fuck. 

Lars brings a hand up to Kirk's throat and pulls him forward. With a thumb nestled up into the crook of Kirk's jaw, he orders him to move. Sternly. So aggressive, in fact, that it rewards both Lars and I with a strangled whimper. 

Kirk is moving his hips against Lars' in such a way that it looks almost rhythmic. Which is funny, considering the dear boy hasn't got any rhythm whatsoever. There's a reason James plays rhythm. 

Aside from that, Kirk is almost coughing out his moans now. He gag makes him sound frustrated, like he wants to give Lars some approval, but he can't. He sounds humiliated and it's making my bones ache. 

I'm already ready to cum. But I'll be fucked if I'm gonna do that now. 

I let go of my dick to catch my breath and focus my eyes on the scene. 

Kirk raises on his knees and falls back into Lars' lap. He's twisting his hands, curling his fingers to pick and fidget with the cuffs, and opening and closing his legs at a rate I don't understand. He's nervous and he's enjoying himself and he's helpless and it's just..

God, fuck. 

"When I said quiet," Lars raises a hand to Kirk's mouth and pushes the gag further into it. Kirk's throat rejects it and he quickly fills up with goosebumps. 

"...I meant quiet." 

Kirk's head drops onto Lars' shoulder as his pace starts to pick up. Then soon he's just..fucking himself stupid on Lars' lap and his breathing is frantic and panicky...

I have to let go of my dick again, I got dangerously close to cumming and groaning out Kirk's fucking name. I do not need them to fucking hear me. 

Kirk is doing his absolute best to stay quiet while Lars holds his waist closer and tries to take control of his speed. But suddenly his angle switches just the smallest bit and Kirk tenses up, throws his head back again and lets out the loudest muffled moan yet. 

My face flushes. 

Lars is starting to unravel as well. He groans out, "God you're such a fucking whore," at Kirk, and digs his nails into the skin of Kirk's hips. Then he starts to do some work of his own, driving his hips up back at that same angle. I can hear Lars' breathing hitch a few times but I can tell he's holding back just to make this last a little longer with Kirk. 

Every single time Lars moves, Kirk lets out a strangled scream more desperate than the last. 

I can't help but look down at myself and remember how much more well endowed I am than Lars. 

God. With me, Kirk would probably fucking pass out-

God, Jason, what the hell is your problem?

The moans get closer together and Kirk's hands start to fidget with the handcuffs a little faster. His toes finally curl and stay there, and his back bows in his horrible, unnatural way. Lars holds him so that he doesn't fall on his back. 

The way Kirk fucking moaned as he came sped up my heart so fucking much that I couldn't even let go of my dick when I edged again. 

I had to bite my lip so hard that I broke skin when I came into my fist. But thank the sweet lord I didn't make a sound. 

Kirk sinks against Lars' chest and tries to catch his breath. 

I see Lars reach behind Kirk's head and unlatch the ball gag. The second it falls from his mouth he starts to pant, and against Lars' neck he tells him,

"I love you-"

And then I'm completely fucking taken back by it. 

Not even I Love You Man, like what he told James when he left. I love you. Plain and simple. 

Lord in heaven. 

Kirk sits up off of Lars and rolls into the bed. But Lars never says it back. He doesn't even move for a minute. 

"No you don't." He says. 

I move so that I can't see them but I can hear them a little better. 

"What? What do you mean I don't..?"

"You never started saying that until I met Skylar."

I hear the bed shift underneath one of them, I'm assuming Lars stood up. 

Who the fuck is Skylar?

"Lars-..I don't think you understand."

"I think you're just getting desperate because no one else'll fuck you. I guess this'll have to be the last time, Kirk, because I thought we could do this without it meaning anything."

Oh my fucking god. I knew Lars was an asshole, but Jesus Christ. 

"Lars, cut it out. You're acting like a dick."

"You're acting like a desperate whore. Goodnight Kirk. You know my view and I'm not uh..I'm not willing to argue right now."

"Lars-wait!"

I quickly scramble out to the bathroom when I hear footsteps. And I lock myself in there, trying not to seem suspicious while I hear Lars walk by. 

He's probably gonna crash on my fuckin' couch which means I can't sleep here tonight. 

While I'm in the bathroom, cleaning myself up, I come up with a little thought that I should probably scrap. 

Oh well. 

I feel really fucking bad for Kirk right now, I feel like this is precisely why him and Lars fight so much. Kirk is probably so fucking in love with him that he's not willing to look for anyone else even though Lars doesn't share the feeling and he's already moved on. 

I hear a sad song of heartbreak in my head. 

Fuck me sideways, I'm going to give Kirk a good night before I leave. 

When I work up my courage and swallow my pride, Kirk is laying on his back, with his head to the side. He's still handcuffed. 

"Kirk! Fuck-are you okay?!" I ask, covering my eyes from seeing anything below the belt but making my presence known nonetheless. His eyes shoot open and he flushes immediately, trying to scramble into an upright position to address me. 

"Fuck me-Jason, fuck-.."

"Are you-...handcuffed?" 

Damn, I'm a good actor. 

"Uh-..." Kirk looks at his lap, crosses his legs to hide from me and chuckles. "..yes. And I don't know where the key is."

"Dude-" I start, "did Lars lock you up?" 

"Shut up."

"No-no, it's okay, man, I'm not judging. Lemme help you out."

Kirk turns to the side, reluctantly, and shows me his bound wrists. 

I dig my fingers under the hook of Kirk's handcuffs, and I hold his forearm with the other. 

 

And then I yank. And the hook comes out, sort of violently. 

With that little burst of strength I've not only impressed myself but I've caused Kirk's breathing to hitch a little. He turns back around to face me and I put a knee on the bed to yank the other hook out. 

His face contorts in pain for a second and he sucks on his lower lip. 

"Fuck, did I hurt you?" I ask, still holding his raw wrist, gently. 

He shakes his head. I expect him to retract his wrist, but he doesn't. He just examines it and examines me. 

"Did Lars hurt you?" 

Kirk finally does take his wrist back and rubs it. 

"...not physically." He says, down into his lap. He still has his legs pressed together and his feet twisted so that he doesn't expose himself.

"What do you mean?" I sit on the bed next to him, and tap his lamp a couple times until I can clearly see his face. 

He pulls the comforter over his lap. 

"He just pissed me off, Jase."

"What the hell were you guys doing in here?"

Kirk grins at me and gives me a nervous chuckle. 

"Doesn't matter," he says, like a child hiding a mess he's made. 

"It does to me, I just had to rip a pair of handcuffs off you."

"Are they broken?" 

I examine the mangled cuffs and nod. "Little bit."

"Fuck.."

"What?"

"Lars is gonna-"

He stops himself and hides his mouth. "He's gonna fuckin' kill me. He bought those for me.."

He's quiet, like he's insanely embarrassed, but if he had known that I'd witnessed the past twenty minutes and jerked off during said minutes, he wouldn't be. 

I mean, I guess I could show him I'm not about to judge him. 

"I'll replace 'em for you and he'll never know I was even in here."

Trying to leave, he doesn't look up at me, so I bend a finger under his patchy little chin, and make him look. 

"Okay?"

"Y-yeah, okay."

I ruffle his hair and turn to leave, so I can go visit a sex shop and buy Kirk new handcuffs, but I get stopped. 

His finger curls into the back loop of my jeans, and tugs me back. 

A lump forms in my throat. 

"Close the door." Is all he says, while he taps the lamp and the light goes dim again. When he lets go of me I do what I was told and try to figure out a game plan. 

What the fuck does he want from me?!

Fuck, okay, time is moving pretty fucking slow right now. 

I have to pack to see James. 

James? 

Kirk's thin fingers dig under the waistband of the front of my jeans. 

Who's James?

He's sitting at the edge of the bed, the blanket is still stuffed between his legs to hide from me. His face is level with my crotch and his hands are working to pull out my belt. 

"Kirk-" I say, laughing, shaking my head. 

He doesn't seem to have an explanation prepared. He just leans a little closer to my torso, stills his hands and...

God, he's got some huge eyes...huge pleading eyes, staring me down and putting me in my place. 

He doesn't break eye contact while he gets the belt out and drops it to the floor. He keeps it until he takes the zipper of my jeans between his teeth and pulls. 

My breath is starting to quiver, but I've still got quite the nervous giggle filling the silence. 

I'm not really sure what to do with my hands..

Kirk undoes my button and the flaps of my jeans come splayed open. Now he can probably see the cum stain on my boxers, that hasn't quite become a stain yet. 

"Fuck, dude," I can't look at him anymore. My face flushes, I cover my mouth with a fist and stare at the wall. 

"Oh?" Kirk has a little coo in his voice. He sees the fucking wet spot, no doubt. Suddenly the thin fabric of my boxers heats up quite a bit and I shut my eyes as tight as they'll let me. 

He's got his tongue pressed up to the newly soft outline of my cock. 

I hiss and press my hand into my eye. 

"Kirk, dude..wh-what about Lars?"

He leans back from me and a line of spit connects his tongue and a giant wet spot on my boxers. 

"Fuck Lars." He purrs, and he yanks me onto the bed with him. 

His hand is tightly gripping my waistband, he rolls onto his back and pulls me on top of him, his muscles strain and he drives my hips down into his. 

Soon I've got my hand on the back of his neck and he's moving me against him. 

His other arm curls around the back of my neck and he pushes my face down to his. I expect him to go after my mouth, he doesn't, he drags his lips across my jaw and presses them against my neck. Hard. 

I muffle down a groan and start moving my hips against his on my own. He's holding me close, he's wrapping his legs around my waist..

I raise to my knees and pull Kirk into my lap. The blanket comes with him, but I've had just about enough of it, so I yank it away from him. He whimpers in protest but upon pressing a palm to his naked back, he settles into my lap and continues to kiss my neck. 

I see his desperate little toes curling again, with his shins tucked under his thighs. Then for a moment I can't see a damn thing because Kirk's piercing presses into my neck and I almost jump. 

He doesn't apologize, he just kisses the spot better and starts to move his hips against me harder. 

I hold his fuzzy little head in my palm and curl my fingers around the back of his neck. 

"What's in that drawer, Kirk?" I ask, but my voice is soft and soaked with anxiety. 

"Open it." Is all he says, but his lips are against my ear. It shoots a chill down my back. 

I reach over, pull the drawer open, and find an abundance of sex supplies. 

For fuck's sake. 

As he keeps moving he's starting to get me hard again, and he notices. He giggles when he feels it and starts to lightly scratch at my back. 

I take a condom from the drawer and tear it open from around Kirk's torso. He hears it, and when he does he nips at my neck. 

"Fuck, dude."

Kirk's breath is shallow. 

He twists his arm behind him and takes the condom from my hand. 

Ohh, fuck me, he's got his lips against mine now, and his-

Fuuuuck me, his hand is feathering beneath my boxers, he takes my dick out and I nearly choke on my own breath. 

He giggles, takes my lip between his teeth and goes back to kissing me. 

He rolls the condom onto me and squeezes, again, I nearly fucking choke. 

I groan against his mouth. 

He starts to run his hand up and down while he pulls away from me and reaches behind to the drawer. 

When he comes back, he comes back more enthusiastic, seemingly to distract be from whatever he's about to do. 

His piercing jabs into my chin. 

Suddenly his hand leaves my cock, I hear a container open, but I don't open my eyes or break the kiss. Not yet. I'm gonna love on him, for a little bit, I'll do whatever he wants me to, especially after what I saw Lars do. 

His hand wraps back around my dick but this time it's laced in lube. It's cold, even through the rubber. I flinch and try to grab at Kirk's wrist but he holds me closer so that I can't move. 

Use me, it's okay. 

"This is okay right?" He whispers with something that sounds like confidence, but something tells me that if I were to tell him no now he would be absolutely crushed. 

Good thing that's not my intention. 

"Use me until you feel better." Is all I manage to say. 

\---

Kirk has absolutely tore my back open with his bitten down nails. 

I don't know how long he's been fucking Lars, but he's obviously not used to this. 

I have him, back to the headboard now. I have his wrists pinned by his head, his legs wrapped around my waist, his little ass against my hip bones. 

The headboard keeps cracking the wall. 

He begs me to fuck him harder, then he pleas, "closer, closer". I do everything he asks. I'm exhausting myself, fucking him against the headboard, shifting all my weight into my knees. 

My shins are becoming numb, and my feet, but I'm not going to do so much as move unless Kirk tells me to. 

Kirk's back bows more dramatically the deeper I get. 

"Ah, fuck..Jas-..Jason-.."

My name. 

Lord. 

"Say it again," I pant. 

He presses his forehead to mine, and I fuck him just a little harder to elicit a scream. 

"Jason!" 

"Louder." 

He's close. His thighs are squeezing my waist. 

"Jason! Fuck! Nnn, ah! Fuck!"

Our foreheads are almost fighting now. He keeps trying to kiss me but a moan drops his jaw before he can reach. 

"One more time, kid." 

He growls my name out through his teeth while he finally gives up and goes dead weight against the board. 

His back stiffens as his whimpers get louder and whinier. 

I let one wrist go to place an arm behind him, like Lars did, so he doesn't hurt himself while he cums. 

He throws himself forward and latches onto me, his sweaty chest touches mine. He bends an arm around my shoulders and buries his face in it. 

Another dragged out scream of my name and I've given him a pretty damn good fucking orgasm. 

In the silence after we've both cum, and he's holding me loosely, I expect...

I expect to hear the thing. 

That thing he said. 

To Lars, after he made him cum. 

"I love you". 

I don't hear it. 

Oh my god, what have I just fucking done?

"Kirk?"

His breathing is steady again, but he's so heavy on my chest that I don't think he's still conscious. 

"Kirk, buddy?" 

He's out cold. 

He came so hard he passed out. My prediction was right. 

I pull out and gently lay him back in his spot on the bed. 

He's adorable. His face is still flushed, and his forehead is shiny with sweat. Those lips of his are swollen, his eyebrows are still furrowed down. 

I stand up and grab a couple of those tissues to wipe his stomach so that he doesn't sleep covered in dried cum, I'd be pissed if someone left me like that. 

When I clean myself up and zip up my pants, again, I open the door to leave. 

When I get it open, I'm greeted with the smug ass face of Lars fucking Ulrich. 

"One more time, kid," he mocks my voice and gives me that little grin again. 

"Oh my fuckin-"

"Thanks for taking care of my whore. Next time, let me watch. He sounded like he was having the time of his fucking life in there."

"He came onto me." 

Am I blaming Kirk for this? I wanted to do that. I wouldn't have if I didn't. 

"Because he's being a little bitch."

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Lars leans against the wall and laughs, silently, shaking his head. I want to knock his giant teeth down his throat. 

"He let you fuck him and suddenly he's your pride n' fuckin' joy, huh Newkid?" 

"You're being a dickhead for no fucking reason."

"Oh, I've got my fucking reasons. Kirk is a whore, obviously, he just likes sex."

I have to grip the doorknob and swallow my pride. 

"Goodnight Jason. Have fun with your other boyfriend tomorrow. I'm sure this'll be a lovely fuckin' conversation starter."

He pushes past me in the doorway and before he silently shuts it, he mocks my voice one more time. 

"'James, you ever felt how tight Kirk's ass is?'"

He was listening. 

The whole fucking time. 

I'm fucked. 

I'm so fucked. 

The kitchen is cold when I walk in. Suddenly I feel filthy. Dirty. Disgusting. I feel like I need to scratch at tear at my skin, but as I raise my hands to do so they start to shake violently. 

I lose my central balance and fall against the wall. I'm held up completely by one shoulder now and my knees, there quivering. 

I shake my head a little to wake up and the first thing I see when my vision returns to single frame is what?

My pills. Brand fuckin' new. God, and that vodka in the freezer?

Daddy's fucking home. Take me in, I need you right now. 

I take a couple more than usual and cough for about five whole minutes when the freezing cold vodka touches my throat. It interrupted the pills' itinerary and partially suffocated me for a while, but I'm okay now. 

I'm okay after I fell to the fucking ground with the taste of blood in the back of my throat? 

Yeah. I'm fine. Get up, faggot. 

I have to pack to see James. 

Who's James?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****I actually adore this chapter.


	5. James, 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a long time ago and I wanted to wait until I finished chapter 6 to upload it. Sorry about the wait, but I wanted to make sure I didn't upload little snippets so far apart. Enjoy

I think I may have lost some charisma since I've been in here. During these thirty some odd days that I've been locked up here, I don't seem to have the same wit or charm that I had before all this shit began. During Load. For Load I had all the mojo of a sixties swinger and I could have absolutely anyone or anything I wanted. Hell, I miss the no fucks given attitude I had during the two years we gave up to tour for Black. I miss my self righteous royalty mindset from Justice, I miss my power hungry metal god complex of Puppets, I miss my dark lord risen attitude of Lightning and I sure as fuck miss my carefree thrasher phase from Kill 'Em All. I don't know what the fuck I've dug myself into now. I changed more than I thought I had. I slowly started to care what people thought of me, which is the total opposite of what should've happened. I didn't give a single fuck what anyone thought of me in high school. I was some kid with long hair who played in a cover band and ran around on a football field. I didn't give a shit if someone made fun of my zits because honestly? What the fuck does it matter if I'm getting more pussy than any of them combined? I graduated and basically moved into Lars' house. Motherfucker followed me around everywhere. I couldn't take a shit without him tapping on the door. He was attached to me at my hip since the day I met him. We'd get drunk together and pick up chicks at some concert we ended up at. Well, I would. Lars never fucked them. I didn't realize he was a virgin, I just didn't see him that way, but he was my wingman no matter what. And I never really complained. Not until we met Dave. And my whole life got thrown into a fucking whirlwind...

I think it all kind of started when Lars lost his virginity. 

And of fucking course, it had to be with a girl that was taken. And of fucking course she had to be taken by someone I was scared shitless of. 

When Dave found out Lars fucked his girlfriend, I expected to see him kick the fucking crooked smile into Lars' skull. Shockingly he didn't. He did something even weirder. 

He got a good revenge fuck. 

But Lars, see, Lars was single. 

Who was the only person that he hung around enough for Dave to seek revenge?

Me. 

One day after rehearsals, Lars had to pack up early and me and Dave were the only ones left in the warehouse. 

He pinned me up against the wall, cheek to the brick, and trapped me there. 

"So you let Lars fuck my girl, and you didn't think there'd be anything wrong with it?"

Of course, scared out of my wits that I was about to get my ass handed to me by Dave again, I tried to claim my innocence. I had no clue Lars was sexing her up. No fucking idea. I found out the same day he did, just about ten minutes earlier. 

"Dave, I didn't fucking know, I swear to god-"

His hand was on the back of my head, forcing my face into the wall. He had my arms twisted behind my back, and his weight pushing me away from him. 

Still, his crotch was lined up with my ass and he could hold me there for however long he fucking wanted because I was not about to move and risk feeling his dick. 

Did he believe me? Of course not. 

I felt his fingers twist into my hair and he pulled me away from the wall, only to smash my cheek back into it. 

Not only did it scramble my brains but it cut my cheek open as well. 

"Don't fucking lie to me, James."

That's all I really remember of the exchange. This happened in the very small window where I was afraid of Dave, and I ended up submitting, that's all I remember. 

He talked me up, fucked with my head, convinced me to let him use me. 

But after he heard me say his name he kept coming back for more. 

I didn't protest. 

I don't know why. 

Dave dumped that girl the day after he fucked me in the warehouse. 

But after...after Dave and I would clear time slots to go back to that warehouse and each time it got less and less hateful. I don't remember how many times it happened before we sent him away. 

The reasons we give for sending him away are true. But Lars had more to do with it than I did. 

His biggest reason wasn't that he was a violent drunk, and it wasn't because of the crazy drugs we caught him with. The biggest reason was that I was gravitating more toward Dave than him. He was losing his only buddy in the world, and Cliff was not going to fill that space I left behind. Not that he couldn't've, because I know he could've, but that he wouldn't want to. Lars is a pain in my fucking ass. As calm and patient as Cliff was Lars still pissed him off and I could see it in his eyes. 

Lars hated to see me and Dave bond. Over anything. Even when Dave broke that Phil guy's leg to protect Lars from getting hurt, he still took it as a threat. Like he was exercising power over Lars. 

I know Dave much better than Lars ever did. Still do. I learned more about him when we leaned against the floor, half naked, sweaty, drunk, and dirty, than anyone else ever had. He talks. A lot. 

He trusted me so fucking much and I valued Lars over him. 

That's why he hates me. 

I hate Dave now. I really do. I hate him for being happier than me. I hate him for having moved on with a band who loves him and I hate him for thinking that he's not fucking good enough because he is. 

Dave is a fucking god. He's an idiot for thinking otherwise. 

But I'll never admit that to anyone but myself. 

I do value Lars over most people. But recently his existence is taking such a huge toll on my sanity that I just can't fucking stand him right now. 

I used to fuck Lars. I did. I used to use him to let off anger. I couldn't get away with doing that to a girl. The anger was violent anger. Violent, angry fucking sex. If you can even call it that. It wasn't passionate, fuck that word, it wasn't intimate. It was fucking violent and meant nothing other than I wanted to choke Lars that day and I couldn't do that without getting his pants off first. 

We stopped that pretty quickly after all that shit in Sweden. 

That's when the anger turned inward on myself. I couldn't hate or blame anyone for Cliff except the bus driver that I would be arrested for destroying. 

I can't get arrested for destroying myself. So I'll take it out on me. 

Dave really did ruin my fucking life. 

Ever since I realized someone saw me as a bottom, I had to do everything I can to prove to everyone that I am most certainly not a bottom. Didn't matter who. 

I had to treat Jason like shit to establish my power over him. To identify myself as the alpha male. 

Jason was scared shitless of me the same way I was scared shitless of Dave. But I never abused my power. There were too many things that could go wrong there. 

I used Jason as the dog I'd kick after I stopped with Lars. He got close to Kirk, and god I thought about being petty, but I dropped it. 

We all kinda kicked Jason around, except for Kirk. Kirk quickly latched onto Jason after Cliff and I still don't think he's let go. 

Jason had such big shoes to fill. God, I hate myself for not recognizing that. 

After I wrote Nothing Else Matters I saw Jason in a new light. It may have taken a long time but I really saw him for what he was after that. He's a godsend. He hardly complains, he's awkward and dorky but he's easy to befriend. He can play a wicked bass. He can sing and he can scream. He's the perfect stage ornament, when he acts like a maniac he steals the show. 

It's when the guilt started finally pouring in. 

When I couldn't take it out on Lars or Jason, I called up Dave. 

No, it wasn't the first time I'd met up with Dave since 1983, not by a long shot. But before then I would call him up to catch up and try to convince him not to hate me. Did we go back to that warehouse? For a while, yes, but when me and the boys abandoned the US studio for Lightning, we used that. And we have ever since. 

1991 is when I called Dave up for hate sex. That's the first time that he didn't fight for dominance. I won't spill the details, but Dave went home that night with a black eye and a chest full of dark purple hickeys, and I played a show with a load of scratches filling my back. 

It happened a few more times until I met Francesca. 

For a long time she made me happy. Treated me like a man, gave me something to look forward to after a show or a tour, fed me, fucked me. The perfect girlfriend. I'm not a bad person though. I know I'm not a bad boyfriend, but it wasn't until last month that I realized that. I never, in the entirety of the time that I knew her, slept with another woman. Ever. I never cheated on Francesca. Sometimes I would be tempted with hot groupies, and when I say hot, I mean they were fucking prizes. But I didn't. Lars threw away his freedom and got married after knowing a girl for like, a month. They broke up pretty fucking quick. I'm the only member of my band that hasn't filed divorce papers yet. I wanted to give Francesca a good life and make sure I really did want to spend my life with her before I got married. Obviously it's a good thing I waited. 

I was drunk when she left, so I didn't know the reasons. I made them up. I needed there to be an explanation, and my immediate explanation was that I was an emotionally abusive, absent boyfriend. 

I destroyed my life thinking that. 

More drinking than I can really handle at this point in my life. Adulthood is much different from adolescence, as a stupid teen I could handle alcohol better than most. When you become an adult is when you're supposed to recognize the craft and handiwork of alcohol rather than its effects. You're supposed to admire a craft beer every once in a while with dinner, you're supposed to buy quality liquor for celebrations and parties. 

I never really got to do that. 

I became a child again when she left. I turned to booze, and I turned to sex. 

Why. Why on earth, did I turn to sex with Dave again?

I'm blaming him for this shitty thought that's been haunting my mind all week. 

I had to. I had to blow off steam with Dave and he was ready and willing. 

Then I just kept projecting. 

I wanted to get some whenever I wanted some. 

The last person I fucked was Dave. 

Well, I guess, I fucked Jason in a figure of speech. 

All that wonderful terrible alcohol that night, after our five minutes alone, we needed to find my boys again. We needed to fix something. I needed to fix something. Kirk needed me and I fucked him over too. 

I put myself in a coma and Jason in a cast. 

He was never even mad at me. 

Jason was never even mad. 

The night before I left he pushed me against the wall of the studio and covered Dave's hickeys with his own. 

"Just until Wednesday. Right, right. And then we'll check out by noon-ish. Yeah. Perfect, thanks man."

Maybe he can give me some more. God, fuck me. It's been too long. 

I don't care what Mrs. A says. I'm not a faggot. I'm desperate. 

Shit, if I hadn't seen a ring on her finger I would've talked her up by now. 

James, whatever you do, do not take anger out on Jason. He doesn't deserve it. Jason doesn't fucking do any wrong. You've got his wing under your flat foot and you need to treat him like a fucking equal. 

Jason doesn't fucking do any wrong. 

My thoughts spiral out of control whenever I get some time alone. I can't tell Mrs. A though. 

There's some conflict in my head that stressing me out quite a bit. 

I don't want Mrs. A to think I'm gay. Because I'm not. I'm not gay. 

I don't need her thinking I am, there's a small chance that the ring means nothing and I can maybe, squeeze a fuck out of her. 

That'll be near the end of my stay, just in case something goes wrong. 

I mean, it could be great, but it also couldn't and she could keep crawling back for more. Which has happened. 

Yeah, I know she's my therapist, but she's a fucking female around my age and I appreciate having her in my lap quite a bit. I wouldn't date her. Of course not. I'm not really in the place to date right now am I? 

...then why exactly are you buying Jason a suite, James?

I don't want to fucking hear it. 

 

\----------

Most days in rehab I wake up early and work out. But for whatever reason, my time confusion got bad this morning and I didn't get out of bed until almost four in the fucking afternoon, simply because I had no fucking idea it was late. Then I rolled out of bed and I sat on the bathroom floor, shirtless, barefoot, sore, for almost an hour. 

Thinking. Stressing out about Jason, about me, about my life, about Mrs. A. 

I almost cried before I remembered I have a dick and balls and I don't need to be fucking crying on the floor like a sad teenager. 

I splashed some water on my face and stared in the mirror for a while until I heard my phone rattle. 

That's when I got the call. The call from Lars. 

Fuck that call. 

FUCK THAT CALL. 

"Yeah?"

"Hey Het, how's it going?"

"Lars? Shit, you haven't called in a month of fucking Sundays."

"I know. I kinda uh...I kinda needed to today. You sitting?"

"Fucking shit. I am now."

He takes a while to string together his words. Probably trying to figure out if he wants to tip toe around me or stomp right on my throat. 

"I don't really wanna throw you off too much, I just wanna make sure you do me a favor and look at Jason's big ass neck tomorrow."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh James," Lars laughs a little too calmly. "he gave Kirk the ride of his fuckin' life earlier tonight. Made him scream."

I went dead fucking silent. 

"What?"

"I know you're not stupid or deaf. You heard me."

"I don't believe you."

"Well I didn't give him the hickeys."

The word hickeys knocks me on my ass just a little. Those damn little love bites have played a pretty big part of my life in the past month.

Should I feel betrayed?

By Jason? Or by Kirk?

"..f-fuck, okay,"

"Pretty hurt aren't'cha James..?"

His voice is alarmingly monotonous, but expectant, and the longer I take to reply, the wider his smile gets. 

"That's fucking-...Jesus Christ."

"He begged Kirk to scream his name." 

"Shut the fuck-that's fucking enough, Lars. Jesus Christ. I'll call you later, just..

Just go. Goodbye."

I hang up before I hear his condescending voice again. And then I knock the phone off the bedside table. It takes a few things with it and makes a horrible noise upon crashing to the ground. Then my anger shoots to the ends of my fingers and toes and I kick the drawer into the table and finally throw a chair to the side to finish off my mini-tantrum. 

Then I'm back on the bathroom floor with my head between my knees and my hands quivering on the back of my head. I bare my teeth at the tile, and try to still my breath. 

I hear the door open outside of my bathroom and a few sets of footsteps. Then my therapist and my physicians open up the door to my bathroom and quiet their chatter while staring at me. 

Man, I sure do love having judging eyes burning holes in my skin. 

"James? What happened?" 

A gentle, fragile hand lands on my shoulder. I lift my head and look at the hand. 

The ring is gone, and the spot where the ring hugged her finger is still red and raw. 

Interesting. 

I bury my head back in my arms and growl at them to leave me alone. It doesn't work, of course. My vision starts to go blurry when I open my eyes back up. The window suggests that it's already dark outside...

How could it be dark? I could've sworn I just woke up? 

One of the doctors gently slaps my cheek but it does virtually nothing to wake me back up. 

My head drops and I feel my feet slide out from under me. 

I go limp..

Whoa, okay..

I can see them trying to drag me to my feet but all I feel is my shoulders being tugged at. 

I blink pretty slowly. 

I would think that I'm having a panic attack but I'm assuming this is a combination of medication cocktails and stress. 

Jason fucked Kirk. Isn't that just great?

Haha. 

Wow. 

"James? What's going on? Have you been taking everything?"

Yeah. I think that's the problem. 

Oh, I'm in Mrs. A's room now. 

"Yes."

"Did you drink?"

"No."

My voice is slow. 

"Have you eaten today?"

"No."

I don't think. I'm pretty sure I've been in the bathroom all day, it's fucking dark outside. 

Jesus. What's going on with me? I'm confused, I'm woozy, I'm sore, I'm starving and I'm stressed. 

I haven't ever missed alcohol as much as I do right now. 

"I think you've just had a little episode with the medication. You're supposed to take them with food."

"I didn't...I don't even remember anything that happened today. I could have sworn it was five in the afternoon."

"It's almost eleven at night."

What the fuck? 

"How? What the fuck?"

"You're not supposed to take the pills without having eaten, okay? It'll mess with you. They're too strong to take on an empty stomach."

"Okay."

That's doesn't answer my fucking question. I didn't have time to eat, and I want to know why. 

She excuses me back to my room and advises me to get some rest. But I could have sworn I was just asleep. 

I'm gonna try to sleep off today and pretend I didn't hear the news I heard. 

Jason's still in the palm of my hand right? 

Jason's still in the palm of my hand. 

I'm in the lap of the rehab center though. 

I'm fucked. I'm so fucking miserable. 

And I doubt Jason is going to be able to make it better now.


	6. Jason, 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say about this other than I am quite sorry. Enjoy

I woke up at four thirty am by throwing myself off the couch and skidding into the bathroom to vomit. 

Again. 

Thankfully I didn't wake anyone up, that's a conversation I'd rather not have. Especially after earlier tonight. I almost want to leave to Long Beach before they even wake up..

I fucked Kirk. I can't deny that now. 

I threw up for almost five full goddamn minutes, until I choked up nothing but stomach acid and couldn't fucking breathe. 

I had to sit in the dark bathroom for a while until I could finally take in a whole inhale. Then I brushed my teeth pretty thoroughly, trying to wash both the taste of vomit and the taste of guilt out of my mouth at once. 

Maybe Kirk won't even remember. 

Maybe Lars won't say anything. 

I get back to the couch and chuck the bottle of pills into my overnight bag, which is splayed open across the room. 

I still haven't packed. I guess I should probably head back to sleep and wake up early enough to pack..

Nope. Not a chance. It's already five and the sun is coming up. 

I pull on a pair of jeans and lean against the wall of the living room. 

Appreciating the quiet. 

Usually, by the time I wake up, one of them is awake, making coffee or something. I'm completely on my own now. 

I should probably pack. 

But I don't head to the back room. I instead pull on my chucks and grab my keys and wallet. 

I don't think about it until I shut the door to my spare truck and start the ignition. I'm gonna head down to that sex shop, buy the handcuffs, leave them where I know Lars will see and then leave. 

Is that petty? 

Does it matter?

No. It doesn't. 

I'm pretty shocked that the sex shop is open. They probably close from six to eleven or something, like some weird nocturnal shit, that all the frequent visitors do. 

Apparently, they were having a special on porno mags this week. 

It takes me all of my strength to open the door and ignore the porno mags. 

There's only one person in here, a lady with short black bangs, who looks exhausted as all hell. She doesn't even notice me when I open the door, not until the door shuts and the vacuum-like sound of the rubber door frame catching it hits her ears. 

It smells like cigarettes and alcohol. 

Or maybe that's just me. I'm not sure. 

Trying to traverse the shop without touching anything questionable makes me think a little bit about being dirty. If I smell like alcohol then I'm going to hold even heavier guilt when I finally see James, added onto my stupid mistake. 

I think it was a mistake?

I find an abundance of packaged bondage tools and squint searching for handcuffs. 

I don't want to refer to Kirk as a mistake. Ever. But the way Lars hung it over my head like that..

It makes me feel like I'm betraying both him and James somehow. And I feel like what I did made Kirk an easy target for Lars. I don't want to leave for that long anymore. I don't want to leave him alone. I was even having a hard time sleeping knowing Lars and Kirk were sleeping in the same room. 

Fuck, now my stomach is tying in knots again. I feel the urge to vomit so I buy the handcuffs and bolt as quickly as I can. 

Thankfully she didn't ask me any questions, that's what I feared the most, she let me go. 

I got to the driver's side door and felt my throat contract. But I didn't let myself puke. I did however, have to put my arm on the window and take some deep breaths before driving back to the studio. I don't think I like that. 

I don't think this is just me taking painkillers on an empty stomach. 

But either way, I need to eat something so I don't puke up stomach acid all the way to Long Beach. 

At least that way I have something to puke. 

\--

When I get back, I scrub away the scent of alcohol in the quickest shower I could possibly take. The sun is fully up now, and the noise of San Rafael is becoming livelier. It's starting to make me panic. Usually, Kirk and Lars get up around ten am, but regardless I want to get the fuck out of here before they wake up. 

I dressed myself in James' clothes to try and tug his heart strings a little. Maybe I'll look less like a convicted felon if I'm wearing clothes that are the slightest bit baggy on me and smell like James rather than myself. I figure I'm probably kissing his ass right about now, but fuck. 

I've never been in rehab. I don't know what the fuck it's like in there. I've had an addiction but I got bored of it and dropped it with no further questions. Now I'm reigniting it, but it's almost like a chore to get myself hooked again. I still don't feel the same reliance. James was so reliant on alcohol that I was worried out of my fucking skin that rehab wasn't going to work. 

Honestly, if I'm going to take a guess, it isn't working. 

He's only been there for a month, sure. But it still feels like he's drifting further away from me. 

Seven hours isn't enough, James?

Seven hours. Christ, okay. 

I pack James' Harvester shirt that Kirk had been clinging onto while he was in a coma. He'll remember that, I'm sure. 

That, and my sweatshirt he put that fucking heart shattering note in. 

It's hot as hell outside, sure, but I need that sweatshirt if I want to play my cards right. 

I stuff a couple wife beaters in the bag too, to make it look full. 

Then I bury my pills in between layers of clothes in a pretty paranoid, frantic fashion. 

Just so long as I keep the conversation on James, and James' life, then I'll be completely in the clear. 

I leave the handcuffs on the counter next to the coffee maker. 

Then I grab my wallet and my keys and set off to leave. 

 

Long Beach, see you in seven hours. 

 

\----------

Here I am on the road again. 

Half an hour on my route I start to feel sick to my stomach again, so I pick up some food and try to force it down before it claws back up. 

I'm alright. For now. 

I can't tell if this is just me finally becoming reliant on the pills or not. I honestly don't think it is, I think I'm taking too much and fucking up my insides or...something. 

Jesus Christ, I hate driving. 

Traffic this morning is an absolute fucking nightmare. Trying to get out of San Rafael on a Monday morning? Disastrous. I'm irritated, nauseous, nervous, and kind of fucking terrified. I feel like I should be pissed off at Kirk for pursuing me, but I'm more mad at Lars for fucking with his poor little head. 

I'm mad because he fucking heard me too. 

I'm mad because he insulted me and he insulted James. 

I would have said 'me and James', but I'm kind of afraid of using that phrase. I don't think there is a 'me and James', I don't want to know if there is, honestly. 

If there ever was, I fucked it up by crawling into Kirk's bed. 

Dear lord. 

I stare at my bandaged up wrist for a second while I turn onto the highway and something crosses my mind. 

Was I drunker than James that night? Should I have been behind the wheel?

I'm definitely subpar when compared to James and his stupid gearhead nature, but he...

Yeah. He did what he did. 

Is James selfish?

Yeah, a little. I've established that. Over the past ten years he's shown me that he's pretty fuckin' selfish. But still, he forced himself into the truck because he wanted to help Kirk out. That might've been for his own selfish reasons, I don't know. 

But what I do know is that he had good intentions. 

James always has good intentions, he's just really, really bad at showing that. 

Next turn down Exit 580. 

 

\---------

God, this hotel. 

It's much nicer than I should have let James buy. 

A valet takes my truck and I'm left carrying my dingy black bag into a giant lobby. 

There's people dressed up. Nice. I look like I've just rolled out of bed, wearing a damn shirt of my own band. 

Thankfully, in this sort of crowd I won't get recognized. 

I tell the secretary both my name and James' name to find my room. 

She hands me a key that may as well be fucking diamond encrusted. 

Shit, James. This is ridiculous. I didn't think they would even let me past the doors with my dirty chucks and my frayed jeans. 

NINTH floor. 

A fucking suite on the ninth floor of a five star hotel. And I'm only staying for what? A night? Two?

However Long James wants you to stay...

I thank the secretary and try to find my room. 

It's already five. I've been driving all goddamn day, I'm tired, I'm starving, where on earth is my room?

The end of a hallway the very edge of the ninth floor. That means it has a view, too. 

God, James. 

Upon opening the door I get the whiff of freshly washed everything, and a deep disinfection. 

Not much I love more than cleanliness. 

The whole room follows this trend of white gold, posh elegance. There's a bed and two low couches, with a coffee table placed in between. Then a balcony, and another division that separates into a kitchen. There's a high ceiling, one wall with a giant mirror, and lots of decor. 

House plants, pottery, vases and whatnot. It all looks delicate and pricey, so I carefully set my bag down and sink into one of the couches. 

God, this place is nice. I'm enjoying the dim, sepia colored lighting of the settling sun and the way the mirror likes to play with its product. 

I love this room. 

I suppose it may be time to get James here to appreciate it. 

\----------

I opened the door expecting to throw myself on James, but he catches my shoulders with both of the giant pads of his hands, and firmly plants his fingers around them. I almost expect a hug, seeing as this is the first time I've seen him in such a long fucking time, until he shuts the door behind him and uses his grip on my shoulders to pin me against the wall. 

I squirm a little but his grip gets tighter and his eyes get colder. 

"Nice to see you too," I say, a little winded, but he doesn't say anything back. He doesn't even crack a smile. His pale eyebrows just furrow down, his brow shades out the blue in his eyes, and he gives me an angry but determined look. Suddenly one of his hands leaves my shoulder and drifts onto my face. He pushes it to one side, pressing my ear to the wall, and causing my neck to crack a couple times. I just grunt in confusion and protest. 

He doesn't say anything, still. But now he digs his fingers under the collar of my shirt and starts to try and whip me around. 

He moves me, but with a little bit of hesitation. 

"A hello would be-"

"Shut the fuck up."

Excuse me?

He gets me to turn and face him again, but I'm stumbling and unsteady, my shoes are becoming heavier. He takes advantage of my weak state and pushes my shoulders quickly backward. 

The curve of my back crunches against the corner of a desk, and the force rattles the entire unit. 

Is he trying to fucking fight with me? If he is, he's gonna be disappointed, because I have no intention of fighting him. 

He grabs my shirt with one powerful hand and the other pins my waist to the desk. He looms over me, casting out my face, and pulls my ear up to his mouth. 

Through an angry clenched jaw, all he says is, "You knocked over the phone."

Then he lets go. And I fall flat against the desk. A few things are trapped underneath me, it's horribly uncomfortable, but I can hardly focus on that right now. 

I'm confused. 

Really fucking confused. 

He's standing with me between his legs, pretty proudly might I add, and motions for me to get up. 

I try, but he pulls my collar before I can get to my feet on my own and turns me around to hit the wall again. That time it hurt, I winced and grunted as my head snapped back. 

"Fuck-James-...what the fuck is your problem?"

He finally gives me a smirk. 

"My problem?"

His right hand slips away from my collar and slowly snakes up, until the curve of his hand wraps around my throat. 

"I'm not the one with the fuckin' problem, Newkid."

He starts to squeeze my throat. I shut my eyes tight and try to hold my breath long enough for him to let go...but to make matters worse, he presses his mouth up to mine and my heart quickens. 

As my heartbeat picks up my body demands more air, but James' hand is tightening evermore and I'm beginning to wheeze and gasp underneath the violent kiss he's giving me. 

The violent kiss I'm returning. 

While he chokes me out he grabs my shirt again and pulls my back away from the wall. He has full control of me again. 

My eyes start to flutter as the lack of oxygen almost knocks me out. 

My hands start to fight James' wrist, scratching and tugging at it, begging for him to let go so I can suck in the breath I desperately fucking need. 

He finally seems to have a little bit of mercy and his hand slips off of my throat and onto my chest. He pulls away too, and I take a second to loudly take in a breath and pant against James. His forehead is against mine, but his eyes are closed. He looks...

Mad. 

Suddenly he bares his teeth and pulls my chest against his. In a moment of adrenaline induced strength, he lifts me enough to push me against the desk again. 

I scramble around for something to grasp onto, and the first thing my fingers come in contact with is James' tank top. 

He pushes his mouth back to mine and holds my hips back against the side of the desk with his own hips. 

I'm still letting out heavy breath through my nose, trying to make my heart rate slow down a little, but it doesn't. 

My hand quivers while holding James' shirt as tight as I am. 

Oh fuck, fuck me..

He deepens the kiss with a giggle and I have to dart out my hand to hold me up. The bow of my back is pulling higher and higher up, and I can't really focus on keeping my feet planted to the ground, my hands planted to the table, and my lips planted to James' all at the same time. 

My feet slip out from underneath me and I end up knocking something else off the desk, that lands to the floor with quite the crash. 

James bites my lower lip, hard, and throws my back into the desk again. "Good fucking job. Do you know how much this suite costed me?"

He sounds like he's using this as a excuse to torture me. 

"I didn't fucking want the suite," I say, while wiping my mouth and attempting to sit up straight. 

But he lurches back onto me with an arm barred over my throat. My grunt cracks this time and now I sound submissive as all fucking hell. 

"Getting a little defensive are we?" He growls into my ear. 

"Fuck you."

He shifts his position and presses his knee in between my legs. 

It's so unexpected that I ended up satisfying him with a winded groan. 

"Yeah, I know you want to, Newkid."

He lifts his knee and pushes it back down with a little bit of a pulse-like movement. 

My hand loosely grips James' shoulder and my head turns to the side. 

Fuck me. That feels fucking good. 

"Ah-shit, James," 

"What?" 

He keeps me pinned but his other hand replaces his knee. Then he starts to search over the surface of my jeans until he finds the hardening imprint of my dick. 

"Ff-..fuck-"

My voice cracked again. 

He pushes his hand hard against my dick. 

"Fuck James, stop it dude-s-..stop.."

"I don't think you want me to stop."

He rubs the ball of his palm over the tip of my dick and I groan through my teeth. 

"Ff..fuck's sake, please, James..cut it out man.." 

While my hands scramble to yank James' hands away, his arm slips onto my throat and begins to cut off oxygen again. 

I gasp and my hand movement becomes more panicked. 

"What? You sure you don't like this? Your dick is telling me otherwise."

He unzips and unbuttons my pants, but he keeps palming me through my boxers. 

I can't form anymore protests. I can only breath heavier, and heavier..my breathing is loud and obnoxious now but I'm sure I'd pass out if I tried to quiet myself down. 

My hand falls away and grips the edge of the desk. 

But with that movement, I realize I'm not completely helpless. 

As my hips start to squirm up against James' hand against my fucking will, I decide to take back a little bit of my dignity and push my hand hard into James' chest. 

He's knocked back and I seem to have reignited whatever anger he's taking out on me. 

He stares at me for a moment, dumbfounded. 

I scramble back up and grab James' tank top to give him a little piece of my mind. 

"What in the FUCK do you think you're doing, Hetfield?" 

His breath becomes shaky at the sound of his last name coming from my mouth. 

He tries to push me again but I bring the other hand up to his collar and hold him back. 

"Uh-uh. No more of that shit."

"No more of what? This?" 

His hands land around my ribs and suddenly, with a force I haven't seen from James in years, he tosses me back and I hit the wall. 

Oh. 

Jesus. 

What was that noise?

He laughs pretty vocally as he pushes me into the wall and a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through my back. 

The wall he pushed me into must have been the fucking mirror. Because it's broken now. 

"Ah! Jesus fuck!" 

"What? That hurt?" 

He pushes me a little harder and the broken glass cuts into my back. 

"James! Fuck you-..l-let me fucking go!"

I can hear glass crash to the floor when he finally pulls me away. While he takes control of me again I turn back to see the damage, and the whole wall mirror has a giant series of cracks in it, but right where I was, the cracks come closer together, and there's a copper colored smear right in the middle. 

My back is bleeding and James' shirt I'm wearing is probably ruined. 

I'm back where I belong I suppose, laying down on the desk, but this time James orders me to kick off my shoes. 

I bite my lip to ignore the glass in my back while I do what I was told. 

"See what happens when you disobey me? Bad shit happens. Bad shit is gonna keep happening unless you do exactly what I tell you to. Got that?"

I nod. 

"Sorry, what's that? I can't hear you."

"I understand," I whimper, while my chucks drop to the floor. 

His hands yank down my jeans. 

"No, no no no. That's not what I want to hear."

He tears down my boxers now and my face flushes. 

"Wh-fuck..fuck..."

"Say it Jason."

My legs try to close to hide but James' thighs have my knees pinned to the side of the desk. 

"Yes sir."

"Fuuuuuuck me. That's what I was waiting for."

I try to watch as his hand drifts closer to my exposed crotch, but he notices me staring and pushes one palm over my face. 

Now I can't see, breathe, or move. 

He seems to run one finger up the length of my dick as lightly as possible, and my hips start to squirm again. 

"Calm down." He orders. 

I try, but as I still one part of my body, another starts to twitch. And it's my hands. 

I try to reach for his arm so I can pull it off my face but the second he sees me move, he takes his hand away. 

"N-no-.."

"Just a minute ago you were begging me to stop."

I don't answer out of fear of humiliation. I just drop my arms back around my head and lay still. 

A thumb is added to the mix, and now both sides of my dick are getting the same frustratingly feathery treatment. 

I breathe a little harder into James' palm. 

"You're a fucking mess Jason," he laughs, as his fingers trail over the tip of my dick and my toes start to curl in frustration. 

"What? You want me to jerk you off?" 

I ball my hands into fists. 

"Hm?" 

I nod under his hand. 

"Sorry, I think I'm going deaf. Can you speak up?" 

"Yes-James, for fuck's sake-" My voice is muffled and desperate. 

"Well, that was pretty rude, don't you think? Maybe if you ask nicely I'll give you what you want." 

"Fuck you."

He brings his hand down to my abdomen with a rough slap and my body tries to fold in half. 

I intended for my groan to sound less gratified than that. 

"You can keep being an asshole and I'll tie you to the legs of this fucking desk. You hear me?" 

"Fuck you James-you fucking asshole-" 

I try to pry James' wrist away but it leaves without my effort. Then he's walking across the room to his bag. 

I start to sit up but before I can, something comes flying past my head. 

It's a shoe. 

"Move, Jason, I fucking dare you."

I drop back into the desk and try to catch my breath. 

I'm starting to actually fucking freak out now. I haven't had much time to think about this shit, it sprung upon me all of a sudden..

James pulls my wrists together, painfully, and I feel a piece of cloth wrap around them. 

I try to yank my arms back and he fucking slaps me. 

He fucking..

Slaps me. 

I wince and try to hide in my shoulder. 

"What? No more protests?"

I stay silent. I don't really have anything else to say. 

I feel like I should be more offended than I am. Because honestly...it doesn't bother me all that much. 

Felt almost kind of nice. 

I don't think I've ever been slapped before. 

When he stands back up, my hands are tied together, then tied to a bar under the desk. 

What a Boy Scout. I'm immobile. 

Wait, that's clever and obnoxious. I'm gonna say it. Maybe it'll piss him off. 

"I didn't know you were a Boy Scout."

"And I didn't realize you had a death wish."

"Like you'd do anything to me."

"Oh, Jason."

James crosses his arms over his torso and pulls his shirt off his back. 

I kinda stare. 

He looks different. 

He wads up the tank top into a little ball and threatens to shove it in my mouth. 

"How about you either shut your fucking mouth, or you can have a mouthful of sweaty tank top. Your choice." 

I give him a smile and a giggle. 

He doesn't return it. 

This still feels like an act. 

Why is he doing this exactly? 

I mean, I'm not particularly opposed to this. 

"What the fuck are you smiling for? 'Stop James, please stop', you're rock hard, you dumbass."

Slinging insults. 

His hand hovers above my dick and I watch with high anxiety. 

He looks back up at my face, and raises a judgmental eyebrow. 

"What..?" 

He stares down back at my dick and then seems to run an experiment. 

He backhands my chest. 

I almost fucking scream. 

"Wh-what-..what the fuck was that for?!"

"You LIKE that?" 

I'm not sure. 

"Your dick twitches when I fuckin' hit you, you faggot." 

He hits me one more time and I yank on my restraints. 

"It happens every fucking time, oh my god," James is laughing at me now. It's obvious he's trying to humiliate me, and it's working. 

My ears are hot. 

"Fuck, Newkid! You're not supposed to like it!" 

I'm breathing hard into my shoulder, trying to avoid his eyes. But I still see them, I see his cocky grin under his stupid mustache. 

Suddenly his smile fades just a little and his eyes seem to darken. 

"Jason, lookit me."

I blink a few times and slowly look up to him. 

His hand slides up my heaving chest and then grips my throat. 

I grit my teeth and try to raise my knees to kick him off. 

"Hey hey hey, no no, none of that."

His grip gets a little more merciless, and he lifts up my shirt to give me a better slap on the chest. 

It's loud, and it stings. 

"Hhh--fuck-!" 

"I didn't call you down here to hear your voice, Jason."

He spits my name. Then my vision starts to go starry. 

"I can hear your voice whenever the fuck I want, cuz you always pick up."

I feel his other hand wrap around my dick and my vision goes even more blank. 

"Why do you always pick up Jase?" 

I have never missed my hair as much as right now. I could hide pretty efficiently in that fluffy mess, but now all I have is my shoulder. 

James laughs at my vulnerability and runs his hand up and down painfully slow. 

"Huh? How often have you thought about this?" 

I can't answer him. I'm afraid if I open my mouth I'll make some submissive ass sound. 

"Probably all the fucking time. How was the drive over Jason? Why did you come down?" 

He pushes his thumb up against the tip of my dick and I suck in a gasp. 

"You didn't fucking miss me did you? Did you miss me, Newkid?" 

He speeds up the pace of his strokes, to the point where it makes my heart sink, but then he takes away his hand. 

My back arched quite a bit. 

"Fffuck, James-..fuck yes I missed you-.." 

"Fuck me. Say it again."

I gasp louder but his hand doesn't give me any mercy. 

I'm about to disobey him but he's not gonna give me what I want until I say it again. 

"I m-missed you, James-.." 

I sound as though I've been stabbed. 

"God I fucking love to hear that," he starts, but then he grits his teeth and starts to jerk me off again. 

Faster. A little angrier. 

"but I HATE not believing it."

He lets go of my throat on 'I' and slaps me across the face on 'hate'. 

His hand cups my face and turns it to the side again, like before, up against the wall. But this time he holds my face to give his other hand something to do too. 

Why the fuck wouldn't I miss him?

"Hhh, James, dude, fuck.." I whine, but he's squeezing my cheeks so that my jaw hardly has space to move. 

"Fuck? What's wrong? You don't like that?" 

"N-no James, I-"

"I better stop then," 

He starts to slow down and loosen his hand. 

"No dude-..p-please don't-"

"Oh don't worry, I won't do it anymore, I'm so very sorry."

My hips seek his hand again without my permission. He laughs. 

"James please just.."

"Please? Oh you're begging now? Is that what you do? Beg to be touched?" 

I can't help but think this fire is fueled by some outside party. 

"Yes I'm fucking begging James! Please don't fucking stop, I swear to god-"

He starts again, rougher and faster, because he's obviously trying to edge me again. 

"Oh-Jesus fuck..!"

"What're you gonna do if I stop? Nothing, right? Cuz you're tied to the fucking desk like a whore aren't you?"

My feet twist and curl against the desk on the other side to try and hold back. 

"I'll kick your fucking ass, James-"

James leans closer so that his chest touches mine and his breath brushes my face. 

"You're full of shit."

He drops my head back onto the grainy wood and instead gets his fingers under the bunched up shirt that hugs my chest. He yanks it a little more and stuffs it into my mouth. 

My own shirt. Which I'm still wearing. 

I give a muffled protest but James ignores it and presses my thigh flat against the desk, just to make sure my legs stay apart. 

I have never been this used before. 

"I thought I told you to SHUT THE FUCK UP, Jason?!" 

He slaps my inner thigh and I whimper. 

I can do nothing but stare at James while his arm flexes and contracts. 

The sunset from outside is casting a broken, orange light onto James. Broken because of that fucking mirror that can no longer muster a proper light reflection. 

It'll cost us an arm and a leg. 

This'll be a bloody fucking aftermath, whenever he lets me cum. 

If he lets me cum. 

I use the shirt to my advantage and bite down. My game plan is, maybe, if I don't act like I'm close, then he won't know when to stop. 

Yeah, that gets thrown out the window when he squeezes the tip of my dick between his finger and thumb and draws precum into his hand. 

I toss my head back and shut my eyes. 

"You're already making a fuckin' mess. Do you see this fuckin' room right now?! The broken fucking mirror and the broken fucking vase, whatever else you've fucked up?" 

He pulls my face again so I see him and periodically gives me a slap on the cheek. 

"Now you're gonna get cum stains on the desk you piece of fucking garbage." 

He wipes his hand on my shirt and grins again. My eyes roll back and flutter closed, because my heart is pounding this nervous, inconsistent beat. 

Kinda like Lars in the studio. 

He finally lifts my dick off my stomach, with this stupid smile that doesn't make me feel any better, and gives me a couple torturously slow strokes. 

I spit out my shirt for a second to bleed away my last bit of dignity. 

"Please James, dude for fucks sake, let me cum," 

"Mmmmm...no. I don't think you deserve it."

His grip gets tight, I'd almost say it was painful if it didn't feel so fucking good. 

My back struggles to stay put on the desk, and despite the pain it causes, I can't help but squirm. 

My back. My back is fucked and I honestly can't wait to see the bloodstains on the desk when this is over. 

James is staring at my face expectantly, waiting for the sign that I'm about to meet my edge. 

I can barely see him through one half lidded eye, but he obviously can't tell I can see him. 

Because he looks like he's aching to cum too. 

I'm sure he wouldn't be happy that I see that in him. 

He jerks me a little faster and I have to turn my head away to stifle a moan with my shoulder. 

"Ff-fuuu-oh god it feels so fucking-"

He pulls my hair for me to face him again and gives me the roughest slap yet. 

It was LOUD. 

It fucking HURT. To the point where my eyes began to water. 

"I don't recall fucking asking you, Newsted. Keep fucking quiet or I swear to god I will fuck you and push your FUCKING face against the broken mirror."

I whimper and bite down on the inside of my cheek. 

During his little outburst his quick strokes got a little more deliberate and my stomach started to flex. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

"J-James I-" 

He stops his hand, but he keeps his grip. 

"What?! Sorry..?!"

I squeeze my eyes shut. I didn't mean to speak..it's a habit..

"That's what I fucking thought. What? You about to cum? Not anymore, huh? Cuz you fucked yourself over again."

On 'fucked', he backhands my rib cage. 

I scream, and tug on my restraints. 

Finally he puts his face into the crook of my neck and starts to jerk me off again. But quickly. This time, he's gonna let me, I can feel it. 

Mmmmm..fuck. 

"You smell like fucking SIN, Newsted."

Sin...?

That could mean a variety of things. 

"A-ah, fuck..-"

He grips my hair again and forces my head against the desk. 

His mouth gets closer to my ear. 

"Lust, and gluttony.." 

Oh fuck-fuck yes, fuck, finally, fuck...

My back arches off of the table again and I accidentally start to fuck James' fist. 

"Come on." He orders, and puts his forehead against my temple. He doesn't let go of my hair. 

Fuuuuuck yes-...I didn't realize edging would make cumming that much better-

I whimper out a couple more obscenities and fuck James' still fist until I can't see and my hips tingle just a little more. 

I sink back into the table and while I catch my breath, I decide to give James a metaphorical kick in the balls. 

"...anger and envy."

I make sure to purr envy. 

He doesn't seem to react much. But what he does do is wipe his hand on my shirt and reach over to untie me. 

I tug on the restraints until my hands are free, and when they are, I grab James by the necklace and give him another one of those violent kisses he seems to like so much. 

He pulls back at first but I use it as an opportunity to sit up and pull him further. 

He places a hand on my chest and another behind my head. 

But right when I expected to get some real affection, he uses his hand to push my chest away and says...

"Nice hickeys, Jason."

...and then he disappears to the balcony for a smoke. 

Hickeys? James didn't give me any-

Kirk. 

KIRK. 

James fucking knows. 

He fucking...saw...the hickeys that someone else gave me. Hickeys I didn't even know I had. I stuff my dick back into my jeans and roll off the desk to check out my neck. I make sure to look out at the window first, and James is leaning on the balcony, staring at this gorgeous view of Long Beach that he's bought for me. A puff of smoke leaves his mouth. 

I crunch hear broken glass twinkle to the ground when I stand. I guess it was stuck to my back. 

When I get into the bathroom, the first thing I do is peel off my stiffening shirt. 

Sure enough, there's a few dark purple hickeys across my chest and neck that I somehow didn't notice when I took a shower this morning. 

I turn to the side to look at my back. 

Orange streaks of blood lay beside puncture wounds. But nothing as serious as I expected. 

I close the door with my foot and try to appreciate the cold tile wall while I can. 

And this fucking bathroom. 

Lord it's gorgeous. 

It's huge and clean and follows a color scheme of white and gold. 

James really spoiled me. 

I don't blame him for getting pissed. 

But he seemed to have come here with a plan like this. 

Did he already know?

No...

Lars. 

Standing in front of the mirror I can see myself react to my own thought. My nose turned red and the vein in my forehead came into view. 

For fucks sake. Lars fucking told James what he saw or heard or whatever. That's why I just got thrown around and tied to a hotel desk. That's why James is out on the balcony smoking. 

Oh man, I really fucked up this time. 

Haha. 

I throw open the bathroom door, and drag my overnight bag into it. James sees my little panic from the other side of the glass door and his eyes widen, but I escape into the bathroom and lock myself in before he can even get it open. 

I tear through the clothes looking for the bottle I strategically hid. 

What am I doing? 

I find the bottle and the second I do, James knocks on the bathroom door. 

"Newkid, open the door."

I don't answer. I just open the bottle and start the sink. 

"Jason. Talk to me. Please."

Shut up James, I'm trying to focus. 

The bottle spills half its contents in my nervous hands. 

I'm not...particularly sure what I'm doing. 

I fucked up. Bad. I need to be punished. And not in the way James sees fit. In the way I see fit. 

With half my pills scattered across the bathroom floor, I toss back the other half into my throat. 

Then I cup my hands under the water and force it down. 

Dear fucking Jesus, that didn't go down well-

"Jason. What was that noise? Dude, you're freaking me out, open the door."

James has a little bit of nervous laughter saturating his tone. 

I feel my chest try to reject the pills and it knocks the wind out of me. I fall back, onto the floor, and hit my head on the wall. 

The doorknob starts to jiggle. 

Ah shit. 

My heart. 

That is unpleasant as all hell, for lack of a better term. It's beating inconsistently again. But this time it's faster. 

The sink is still running. The doorknob is still jiggling. 

The door rattles within its frame. 

James is trying to get in now. 

When the noise makes me flinch, I look up at the source, and the light nearly blinds me. 

I guess my eyes have already dilated. Usually that doesn't happen for a few minutes at the least. 

Then again, I've never taken that many at once. 

Thank god they're working. 

Thank god they're...

Work..

My stomach..fuck me...

My body doesn't seem to appreciate this. 

I scramble over to the toilet and bury my head in it. 

I guess that didn't work the way I was hoping. I'm about to puke up the pills I just forced down. 

I shut my eyes and let my body eject its poison. James is still trying to get in, but hasn't quite broken through yet. 

"Jason, for fucks sake, you're scaring the shit outta me, man. Open the door."

I wipe my mouth before I open my eyes. 

That..

Oh. 

The toilet is full of uh...

Blood. Only blood. I think the pills have already done their damage. 

I look at my hand, and there's a giant smear of blood across it. 

Oh Jesus fucking Christ. 

I cough and scramble away from the toilet. More blood. 

I..

Oh dear fucking-

What did I do?

What the fuck did I..

No, Jason, don't pass out, you might not..

I drift onto the ground and the last thing I see before my eyes shut is the door swing open. 

...you might not wake up. 

"F-..fuck! Jason! No no-..fucking-..Jason I fucking-..."

James?


	7. James, Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to thank you guys for being so patient with me. I don't have nearly enough time to write anymore, what with driver's ed, concerts, and vacations, but for the rest of the summer my schedule will most likely be clear enough to get back on track. On the contrary to what I make it look like, I genuinely love writing stuff like this, and during my periods of creative halt (for this particular story), I've written a few more little one shots. Once I've worked the kinks out of those, they should be up as well. 
> 
> I'll thank you again for your patience. I hope you enjoy ❤️

Those fucking hickeys. 

Jason's covered in them and he doesn't even fucking realize it. I can't fucking believe him. 

God James, why are you so hurt? 

I grab the cigarette box out of my pocket and light one up outside. 

....the view. 

Good lord. 

The view of Long Beach from here is pretty fucking beautiful. This city has seen some shit, and somehow stands gorgeous. Maybe from fresh eyes it looks prettier than it really is. 

Maybe that's how Jason saw Kirk. 

I don't see either of them free of their obvious damages. They're heavily broken, both of them. Jason has a bandage around his wrist right now, and Kirk is emotionally destroyed by the prick that I call my other half. 

Lars. 

The hot, smoky taste of the tobacco burns my throat and I start to cough. 

I guess I wasn't thinking. 

I tap the ash over the edge of the balcony and turn back to see if Jason's dressed himself yet. 

He's not there. 

I lean on the balcony and cross my legs over one another, waiting to see the bathroom door open. 

The smoke creates in a beeline to my mouth as I aim for another drag. But the second I touch the cigarette to my mouth, I see the door open. Jason's shirt is off, I see even more hickeys. 

My feet slip out from under me and try to get to Jason before I even realize it. 

I throw my cigarette into the ground and reach for the door, not dissimilar to the way Jason grabs his overnight bag and drags it into the bathroom. What the fuck was that?

I slide open the door, not bothering to close it behind me, and knock on the bathroom door. "Newkid-, open the door."

The sink starts to run. 

"Jason, talk to me, please." 

I press my ear to the door to try and listen a little better, but I hear something fall to the floor and things scatter across it. 

"Jason. What was that noise? Dude, you're freaking me out, open the door." I couldn't stifle a nervous laugh. It's an absolutely terrified laugh of course. Because that sounded like a bottle of pills to me. With that thought I grip the doorknob and jiggle. 

The sink hasn't stopped running, which means his attention has diverted away from it. 

I run my shoulder into the door. 

This is what panic feels like. 

"Jason, for fuck's sake, you're scaring the shit out of me. Open the door." 

I ram my shoulder again but the door doesn't budge. 

I hear shoes shuffle and water splash. 

Fuck this. 

I drive my boot into the wood and kick the door open so fucking hard it swings back and hits me in the knee. 

I quickly scan the room for-

Oh my-

God. 

"F-..fuck! Jason! No no-..fucking-..Jason I fucking-..."

I slide toward Jason's body and feel pills crunch under my knees as I find him. 

He's covered in his own blood as I hook my arms under his and try to get him up. 

No. He's unconscious. 

"What the FUCK, JASON?!" 

My voice cracks and growls and I fucking...I scream. 

I just scream. 

I scream for help. 

To anyone who could possibly hear me. 

My lungs better not fucking disappoint me. 

I have to drop Jason for a moment to scramble to the phone, I grab it from the hook, searching for the fucking extension. 

911.

I scramble back into the bathroom with the phone in my shaky, sweaty hand. 

"911, what's your-"

"He better not be fucking dead, I swear to fucking god-" 

My eyes burn. I'm crying. 

I'm sobbing. 

"Sir, calm down. What's happening?" 

"There's pills everywhere, there's fucking blood-" 

"Was there an overdose sir?" 

"I.."

"Who are you calling for?" 

I stare at Jason's chest. It's moving. 

He's okay for now. 

"M-my friend. My friend he-..he vomited blood, he's not conscious."

"Is he breathing?" 

I have to touch his chest to ensure reality. 

"Y-yes, yes, he's breathing." 

"What did he overdose on?" 

I search the floor for the bottle Jason had, and I find it neatly tucked away behind the door. 

"Uh-it's uh-.."

My tears feel alien on my face. They shouldn't be there. I don't fucking cry. 

"Th-the..the bottle says hydrocodone."

I move my thumb from the bottle and see something I wish..

I hadn't..

"PRESCRIPTION TO: JAMES A. HETFIELD".

These are my painkillers. 

The painkillers they gave me for my ribs. 

Jason took my painkillers. 

In order to take my painkillers he needed to take my prescription. 

I thought it took him too long to grab the envelope. 

"Those are painkillers sir. Has he thrown up?" 

"Just blood." 

My voice is dead. 

"When the paramedics get there they're going to have to induce vomiting to make sure he stays well, okay sir?" 

"Okay."

"We've sent a unit to your location. Stay on the line with me okay?" 

"No, I'm alright. Thank you."

"Sir-"

Click. 

Goodbye Miss. 

I look at Jason, and throw the bottle at the tub, barely missing his bloody fucking face. 

"What the FUCK is your FUCKING problem?!" 

I fall into his lap and hold his chest close to mine. 

I'm holding his neck in my hand. 

"You can't..you can't send me away to fuck yourself up! 

We were supposed to FUCKING be in this together, Jason!! One can't be fucking DYING- DYING-...while the other is trying to protect them! 

I'm out here for you! For you! To fucking protect you!"

I feel so fucking betrayed. 

"Fuck you Jason! FUCK YOU! I've bled away my fucking life, I'm losing my fucking mind, my life is fucking miserable and I'm fucking DOING IT FOR YOU!" 

I don't know how long I've been crying on him. 

I press my cheek to his chest every once in a while to make sure he's still breathing. 

He is. 

He's warm. 

He's feverishly warm. 

When the paramedics get to the room I believe I've died twice already. 

There's a lot of thoughts running around in my head right now. For one, I should not be sitting this far away from Jason..how did I even get here..? Who are these people? 

Paramedics, James..

They're moving really slow..

Where the fuck is Jason?!

WHERE THE FUCK IS JASON?!

WHERE AM I?!

WHERE...

Where am I?

\----------

"How long do you think I should stay?"

"Until I'm back, duh."

"Well I don't know when that's gonna be..."

"Me neither. Don't worry about it alright? I'll call ya everyday. You won't miss a thing."

Jason is nervously playing with one of his curls. I've asked him to housesit for me while I'm gone, which is like, the ultimate form of trust. My dogs, records and guitars are here. And I'm letting some random ass guy watch it all for however long I'm gone. Me and Lars are headed out down to Oceanside for a while, Kirk is staying at Lars', so all I'm left with is Jason if I want a free house sitter. 

He's ready and willing for pretty much anything we throw at him. 

"You sure you're comfortable staying here?" I ask, not because I really care but because I feel obligated to. He's kinda my responsibility now. I adopted a clueless timid puppy. 

"Yeah, of course. I don't really cause any trouble. Like ever. You can trust me with your place."

I don't doubt the no trouble thing. He's kind of a wimp. At least around me. 

"Alright man, I'm gonna head to Lars', say bye to Kirk and whatnot. Thanks for taking care of it for me dude."

Jason's little mouth twitches a tiny little smile that he seems to be hiding as I wave him goodbye. He never stopped playing with that one curl while I spoke. 

Lord, this kid is gonna be the death of me. I mean..he's hardly a kid I suppose, he's older than me. But he's the New Kid so I suppose he's gonna stay childlike to me. He's not very chatty, he's really shy and seems to be totally paranoid that he's gonna piss me off with everything he opens his mouth for. 

I really hope this works out. He can play, I heard his other shit, and it's good. I just hope I don't end up with another Ron that I have to fire. 

As I start up my truck to head down to Lars' house, it gives me a little imaginative thought about our new bassist. 'Is he this timid around everyone or just me? Does that make me special?'. I don't think it does. I've only known him for about a month at the most, and I'm still trying to figure out how the fuck he worked up the courage to audition. He hasn't yet come out of his shell but I have a feeling I can't pry it open myself. He's pretty mysterious, he keeps to himself, and he's really secretive about everything. Maybe he thinks I don't care about him. That's understandable I guess. I don't want to come off as an asshole but I don't wanna baby him around either. 

He was the one who auditioned to fill the space Cliff left behind. I expect him to do just that. And if he doesn't, we can find someone else. 

...he's a pretty weird guy. I mean, not in an interest sense. He likes Zeppelin, and Diamond Head, and Iron Maiden. What more could I ask for? I mean weird personality wise. While he was moving into my house for the weekend or week, he had a bag full of something that sounded like pills. Half empty pill bottles, and I'm thinking, "Oh no, he's got some weird disease that he needs to take excessive doses of medicine for," but when he throws the bag on the couch instead of leaving it somewhere more practical, like the bathroom or the kitchen, it leads me to think they're a little less helpful than that. I hope he's careful. 

I should check on him a little more. 

It totally reminds me of Dave. The way Dave used to haul around bags of weird drugs to and from our studios and houses, that's pretty much what I see Jason doing now. 

I hope he sees that this little excursion is a real test of his trustworthiness. 

\--

I was awoken by a call at eleven in the morning. I didn't think anyone would be able to reach me or Lars out here, but I did give our hotel number to Kirk in case of an emergency. 

There was an emergency. 

Apparently Kirk got a call from Jason last night and it sounded pretty fucking serious. I mean, I guess my little hunch about those pills was right. Kirk called me up and told me that Jason overdosed. Not a serious one though, just enough to make him really fucking sick. My thought was that he must have mixed it with an alcohol just a little too strong. I told him that we'd be back by the end of the day anyway, and we'd be able to make sure everything was okay. 

It wasn't serious. 

It's not serious. 

It's not serious. 

James, wake up. You're dreaming. You're not 23 anymore. 

Jason's overdose WASN'T serious. Not in 1986...

James wake up...you're dreaming. 

It's not 1986 anymore. 

You're not prepared to lose another brother. 

Bite the fucking bullet. Fate doesn't care about your preparations. 

Fate?

FATE?!

It's so fucking dark and shadowed that I can see nothing but the blood smears. Everything seems to be pale but those red spots...

I have tunnel vision. 

It's focusing right on Jason. 

He's not moving anymore. He's not breathing. 

I'm scrambling but getting no closer. 

His head is limp on his chest, he looks like a helpless child within someone else's arms. He's as pale as the rest of the hotel bathroom. 

All I can see is the blood. 

Vodka and painkillers tear open your stomach and cause you to cough up and vomit copious amounts of blood. If Jason hasn't stopped doing this...

He swore off this when we came back. He swore off in 1986. And after seeing me, why wouldn't he keep off? 

He's not breathing anymore. 

The brightness of the red is slowly fucking...

It's slowly fading. 

Jason is slowly fucking fading he-Jason-

Jason's fucking dying-

JASON IS FUCKING-

He's dead. 

He's gone. 

He's dead it's...

He's dead and it's my fault-

"You weren't there for the painkillers, those didn't mix will with vodka but I tried anyway."

"I know it doesn't. Painkillers don't mix with anything."

If I hadn't said anything he wouldn't have taken the pills and he...

HE WOULDN'T HAVE TAKEN THE PILLS AND HE WOULDN'T HAVE FUCKING DIED-

Wait. 

What was that?

My vision is blank. 

Black, not blank. 

Dark. 

Painfully fucking dark. 

A panic that should have come much quicker finally tears through my veins and arises to the surface of my skin in heatwaves. 

What was that noise? 

Choking?

Coughing..?

"Sir, we're going to have to induce vomiting-" I remember her voice in my head and I-

I sit up and move my hands around my surroundings. My vision's back-

James wake up...

I'm awake. 

I'm awake. 

And Jason is alive. I hear him. 

He's...

"Sir, please, let us take care of him for a moment-..we'll let you through okay? Please calm down."

A woman's fragile hands are on my bare shoulders, urging me to relax back into the tile of the floor but I fucking can't..I need to feel him again. I cannot lose another brother. 

I cannot lose another brother. 

"Please-where..where is he? Let me see him!" 

My voice sounds less than sane. I don't feel sane. I feel like if I don't see him right now then my blood will start to boil and cook me from the inside out. 

There's still a mass of EMTs in this tiny bathroom, nothing much has seemed to change. 

I understand why he did it to himself.

I don't understand why he did it to me. 

Is it because of how I was treating him..?

My jaw is clenched tight and I feel a headache beginning to well beneath my skull...

Is it because of what he did with Kirk or what? Is it because of that?

No for fuck's sake James. It's your fucking fault. How could this be anything but your fault? 

The same fragile hand reaches for me to help me to my feet. I almost throw myself into her while I stand, but I can't help it...

He's still alive and I need to validate this...

I can see a group of EMTs leaving the hotel room and finding an elevator. I chase the fuck after them until I see the bottom of Jason's dirty sock and know I'm on the right path. I expect them to push me away, but I guess they have an easy understanding of the fucking irrational panic I'm in to make sure they don't separate us. 

Oh god. 

He's alive but he isn't moving. 

Oh god...

Running down the hallway into a cramped elevator helps me realize the severity...

He did it once, what makes me think he won't do it again?

What if I relapse? 

My fucking god what if I-...

When the doors close I push past the EMTs to try and get a look at Jason. His head is turned away from me but his chest is moving. 

Is this the hallucination, or is seeing him dead the hallucination? 

It's dark outside. Was it dark before? 

What time is it?

What fucking DAY is it?

What date do I have to announce as Jason's death? 

Jason is ALIVE, James! Stop fucking thinking like that! 

This isn't the fucking lobby, this is an ambulance..?

I don't remember going through the lobby. I don't remember getting here. 

Fuck me...

No, no no no, this isn't a good time to faint again James...

This is a fucking-...

Nightmare...


End file.
